There is a question I have been sitting with for a long time, turning it over in my hands the way you turn over a smooth stone you found somewhere meaningful and carried home without quite knowing why: Why do we weep for a dog we never met, but look away from the grief of a mother cow whose calf has been taken? I am not asking this to make anyone feel guilty. I eat meat. I have sat at a table with a ribeye in front of me and felt, in a moment that might sound strange to some
