GivingTuesday fundraiser in memory of Gourd

This is a difficult week for all plant based folks, but it's extra bittersweet for us because our first turkey friend Gourd passed away this week. Here is his eulogy, please consider donating in his memory.

I don’t often let myself live in a place of anger or sadness for the animals of the world. Instead I bury the feeling, snuggle the creatures at my sanctuary and get to work making their lives better. But it's hard. It's both hard to resist the rage and despair, and hard to hold it, as touching that pain scorches like fire.

Well, I am going to touch that fire for a moment.

I have been told we are “good vegans” because we don’t push it on anyone or make anyone feel shameful. In that case, I need to be a “bad vegan” right now. My first turkey friend, Gourd, died this week. He did not die of old age. No domestic turkey dies of old age in fact, their bodies have been bred to just keep getting bigger until they are slaughtered or their systems collapse because they can no longer sustain their body. Imagine loving life, but not being able to age no matter what you do because it doesn’t matter to the world if your body is functional, it only matters if you taste good quickly.

Suddenly, Gourd wheezed, collapsed, and vomited; slowly draining away for hours because humans have bred him to be the fattest food as fast as possible. Mostly for tomorrow's holiday.

Gourd was more than the juicy, fatty calories on your festive plate. He was my friend. He was silly, chatty, slow but strong. He loved his flock, even welcoming two little orphan piglets into his home. Gourd’s face was always changing and sharing his expression. He was thrilled to discover blueberry muffins. He fiercely chirped at power tools. He was sweet and warm to our small daughter, trusting her before he let anyone else in. He had a theme song that we sang on slow walks together morning and night.

Gourd defied the odds. He was plucked out of the garbage can by a family visiting a Tractor Supply during “chick season”. He had been live-shipped in a cardboard box, tumbling loose in the dark on trucks, arriving with both legs broken. He was no longer a viable “product”, so the store threw him away. This young family plucked him out, taped popsicle sticks to his tiny shattered legs, and he survived. He was loved by them, and loved by us. But that only sustained him for 3 years before his body succumbed to humans' selective breeding. Which is “good” for a turkey; most domestic turkeys before they turn 1 (if they have been spared slaughter).

Gourd brought so much joy, taught us so much, exposed folks to the chirpy charm of turkeys, surprised them with his goofiness and spirit. Our Minneapolis nephews still sing his theme song. Gourd planted seeds of empathy in others and dug a gulf of care and grief in me. The fact that Gourd died the week of Thanksgiving is especially bitter. As I weep missing my friend, still looking for him each morning, holding my daughters little hand in shared loss, most of you will ceremonially eat a Gourd. A friend and being that can’t live because their body didn’t need to work, only taste. A soul slaughtered for flavor.

This year I am thankful for the bird, the friend, the being that shared his short life with me and left me forever changed. Thank you Gourd.