Where we love is home—home that our feet may leave
but not our hearts.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes
6. Where Tyson Comes Home
Four years later
MY NAME is Tyson Thompson (formally Tyson McKenna, aka the Kid), and I’m here to recruit you.
When was the last time you had a hamburger? A piece of bacon? A succulent chicken breast from KFC (Kentucky Fried Corpses?) Last week? Yesterday?
Today?
Did it taste good? Did the juice just drip down your chin as you shoved that poor defenseless cutlet (who undoubtedly had once been something’s mother or father, son or daughter) down your throat? Did you groan in delight when you finished, licking your fingers to get one last taste of the flesh? Did you spend a few moments thinking fondly back on that meal, only to forget it seconds later and move on with your day? If you did remember the food, it was only later when it was passing through you like liquid magma as you sat on the toilet playing Candy Crush on your smartphone. It burned coming out, I’m sure, but at least you had the time to beat level 232. Right? Is that how it happened?
Well.
Have I got a story to tell you.
Imagine, if you will, a beautiful cow named Carl. Carl is a Red Angus, the hairs on his body a deep maroon that catch the early morning light, causing him to flash like fire. He grew up on a pretty farm in the mountains and dreams of one day being the head cow in charge of his herd. He’s recently met a lovely heifer named Jennifer who sparks his cowish fancy. It’s the swish of her tail that first catches his eye, the way she bends over and licks the salt block with her long, flat tongue that causes his five-pound heart to skip a couple of beats in his broad chest. He’s two years old and is in the prime of his life. He’s ready, you see, to enter bullhood, leaving the calf life behind. He’s decided that the very next day, he’ll make his move and let Jennifer know how he feels by mounting her in front of the herd to display his cowness.
He’s nervous! He’s excited! He feels like he could jump over the moon!
But then it all comes crashing down.
He’s awakened early the next morning when men come and herd him and his fellow cows up onto ramps that lead into trucks of dirty metal. He bellows for Jennifer, but she is nowhere to be found. His eyes are wide, and he flares his nose in fear. He tries to break away, but the push of his brethren is too strong, and he is forced into the back of the truck, his face in the ass of another cow he barely knows.
All of them call out as the rear door slides shut, casting them all into darkness. The men laugh. There’s a knock on the metal paneling. The truck rumbles to life, and they are on the move.
But not for long.
It seems like only seconds have passed when the truck stops and the rear door slides open again, the bright light flashing against Carl’s eyes, causing him to cry out again. He shouts for Jennifer frantically, but even if she’s there, he can’t hear her over the call of the others. It’s also unlikely that she could hear him. There is only confusion. Chaos. What is happening? Carl wonders. What is going on?
He’s forced into the light and is startled to find himself in a chute of sorts, a high metallic fence around him, a dull and rusty orange. There’s no grass here, no feed in front of him. There’s no field that smells like sunshine. There’s no Jennifer. This is not his home. This is hell.
His brothers and sisters around him begin to move down the chute. He has no choice but to follow them. It’s a tidal wave of flesh and bone, and he cannot fight against it.
He is pushed into a large room filled with men. One stands in front of him and cackles maniacally. The man grabs Carl by the head and pulls him along. He’s thrust forward into a metal device that closes around his head, holding him in place. He kicks up his back legs, wrenching his neck in the process. Paneling raises on either side of him, pressing against his sides, holding him up and in place.
There’s a crackling noise behind him, and he has time to call out again for his beloved before he’s electrocuted with three hundred volts to the back of his head. Carl’s eyes are still open, and he’s still breathing, but he can’t move. He can’t seem to get his legs to work. He tries to move his tail, but it is dead against his rear. Everything is hazy. He flicks his eyes from side to side, sure he can find a way to escape, sure that this is merely a dark moment in his life that he’ll look back upon one day when he is old and fat and think to himself, Why, that was an experience. That sure was a scary time.
Then comes another sound.
A mechanical sound.
A deep whirring that grates against his bones.
A circular machine lowers from above him to the right side of his head. A small tube
extends from this machine and presses against his skull, above his eye. He tries in vain to move, but the electroshock has rendered his body useless. He closes his eyes and thinks of Jennifer.
They are frolicking in a field. Grass and hay extend as far as the eye can see. There’s sunshine! And salt licks! Jennifer stares at him adoringly, and doesn’t he feel the urge to mount her? Why, yes! He does! He is the king of this field and Jennifer is his queen, and all will be well, will be well, will be—
A burst of compressed air propels a stainless steel rod forward, striking a forceful blow against the side of his head, and the darkness that extends over Carl at that moment is all-consuming.
Later, Carl’s unconscious body is pulled from the machine and chains are tied to his lower legs. He’s lifted into the air and placed in line with the rest of his knocked-out compatriots, his bindings attached to a track above his head that moves them slowly to yet another machine.