Killer Instinct?
I have trouble killing a spider. Or a wasp. Or even a fly—as pesky as it might be. I sometimes do it, but I feel bad doing it. And I always apologize.
I’ve had a few dogs and cats “put down” at the vet. Because they were terribly ill, in pain, and not going to get better. In those cases, I did what I would wish for myself—to find the quickest, easiest way to put me out of my misery.
The farmer across the road has to occasionally shoot a cow, to put it out of its misery. And sometimes he might shoot varmints who are disturbing his cattle, chickens, and horses. Of course, his cattle and chickens eventually wind up in the slaughterhouse, but I can’t hold that against him. Although I eat waaaay more veggies than meat, I have indulged in plenty of chicken and beef in my lifetime.
But lately I’ve been killing ants by the dozens. I’ve become the cold-hearted Terminator. (Well, sometimes I still apologize.) But the ants have been taking over my kitchen sink. They swarm over a molecule of watermelon lodged in the strainer. And I know if I don’t get rid of them they will be eating crackers in my cupboard and probably even fruit in my fridge.
I am so callous I just smash them with the fingers on my left hand while my right hand is doing other things. Like an unscrupulous dictator.
Last year I hired a carpenter to replace a passel of rotten porch boards. He knocked my socks off. A hulking man armed with power tools who took care not to harm animals that got in his way. He even took time to introduce me to a beautiful spotted lizard that had apparently been hiding under the porch—while he gently relocated it.
But later he and I came across some wasps that were interfering with his work. He declared he hates wasps—and whipped out his eco-friendly wasp spray (dish soap + water) and went into battle. I had mixed feelings. Yet I understood the benefit—I had once been stung three times in the face on that very porch, and was so puffed up I couldn’t see to drive.
And then there is the wannabe VP, governor of South Dakota, who shot a dog and a goat, basically because she didn’t like their personalities. She couldn’t mold them to her particular vision of how dogs and goats ought to behave.
I definitely have difficulty with that.
Now animals are eating my veggie garden. Worms in the broccoli, leaf chewers on multiple crops. I researched the best way for an organic gardener to get rid of these pests and took action. Apologizing as I did so.
And then something larger started eating entire plants—probably deer. So I whipped up a batch of deer-deterrent spray (eggs, milk, vegetable oil, and dish soap) and coated veggies and flowers while simultaneously thinking about texting my neighbor—a hunter—that it’s time for some Bambi-burgers. (Even though I really don’t like the taste of venison.)
But I love watching the deer—fawns frolicking, unaware, beneath my fruit trees while their mamas keep watch. I appreciate that all creatures serve a purpose in the food chain. Each is just trying its best to survive. Is my smashing ants in the sink, or the carpenter annihilating wasps merely a part of this phenomenon? Or have we humans, in our arrogance, overstepped the designs of nature?
I think Madam Goat-&-Dog Killer crossed the line. But it’s all relative. Depends on who draws the line.