On the Purity of Animals

Today, I join 500 others in an effort to rescue dogs from Ridglan Farms, an industrial dog breeder in rural Wisconsin. We intend to walk right onto the facility, carrying the dogs out with our own arms. If we are ultimately successful, thousands of dogs will escape the confines of their cages, relocating to the loving homes they have always deserved.

For context, Ridglan Farms is one of the dog testing industry’s two remaining suppliers. Its business model is to breed thousands of beagle puppies, confine them to wire mesh cages, then sell them to laboratories to be experimented upon. One of the most common forms of these experiments is the infamous “drug inhalation” test, where researchers fasten gas masks to beagles’ faces, forcing them to inhale experimental drugs.

Ridglan Farms is guilty of a long list of such abuses, but rather than focus on the details of these horrors, I want to discuss something more fundamental: our relationship to these animals. You see, beagles are the dog testing industry’s preferred test subject—not due to any particular resemblance in anatomy—but rather due to their temperament: gentle, trusting, forgiving. In many ways, this renders the beagle the ideal test subject. Researchers may mutilate and operate upon the beagle, but he will never fight back.

This treatment is, of course, a profound betrayal of man’s best friend. Dogs have stood by humanity for millennia. They helped our ancestors to hunt; they protected our people from predators. Today, dogs continue this service by providing a constant companionship, reducing our anxieties, alleviating our loneliness. And yet. Our research institutions repay dogs’ loyalty—not with favor—but with torment. In this regard, humanity is the Brutus to the canine’s Caesar.

Even more tragic is the beagle’s acquiescence to our betrayal. Although humanity stabs him in the back, time after time, he still trusts our kind. Each time the white lab coat returns to his cage, the beagle hopes that the arms removing him will be loving ones. He refuses to use his claws. He refuses to use his teeth. He stays true to his promise, “I will never hurt you.”

In a cruel irony, the canine’s trust in humanity—an ancient partnership that once benefited his survival—has led to his demise.

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The more I reflect on the dogs at Ridglan Farms, the more I have come to believe that our betrayal of the canine says something deeper about our relationship to the animal kingdom. Unfortunately, it is not just the dog that we have betrayed, but the entire domesticated creation: horses, cows, pigs, chickens. Through millennia of selective breeding, we have reprogrammed these animals’ instincts, transforming them from skittish creatures to trusting companions. Thus, humanity has hardwired the trust of these creatures—a vulnerability that we now exploit on an unprecedented scale.

Take the cow, for example. Domesticated over 10,000 years ago, modern cows are descendants of the wild auroch—a fearsome creature once used in gladiator fights. Today, however, cows are some of the gentlest creatures in existence. Despite their enormous size, these 1,500 pound gentle giants are known to get the zoomies, rest their head on your shoulder, and cuddle.

Tragically, our agricultural industry exploits the cow’s tenderness much like the beagle’s. She is subjected to mass confinement and slaughter, with more than 300 million of her kind killed each year.

This degree of domination by the agricultural and research industries would be impossible without millennia of genetic selection. Aurochs would never line up for the slaughterhouse; wolves would never sit tight for drug inhalation experiments. It is humanity’s deliberate engineering of these species that has rendered them so trusting—and so vulnerable—to our mistreatment. That is betrayal.

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As often, there is beauty in tragedy. While domestication has exacerbated our domination of the animal kingdom, it has also created the purest souls on planet earth. Creatures who refrain from violence, no matter how you hurt them; creatures who forgive you, no matter your sins.

I have met many of these animals in a personal capacity: dogs who survived China’s meat trade, cows who escaped America’s factory farms. Despite these creatures knowing nothing but violence from the human hand, somehow, they learn to forgive. They will still approach you, albeit with a certain cautiousness. They will still seek your touch, if only you are patient. Humanity has, in its reprogramming of the animal kingdom, inadvertently instilled these creatures with our greatest virtues.

This piece is my promise to live by those same virtues. I will not harm others, even if they harm me. I will not hold resentment, even if I suffer. And, above all, I will not lose my faith in humanity, even though we commit such sins. Like the beagles at Ridglan Farms, I will trust that our relationship with animals can be mended. I know in my heart that we are not meant to harm our fellow creatures; we are meant to care for them.