Living on a sheep farm is horrifying. It's kind of funny because the general public seems to think of it as the epitome of peace. No. Blood, guts, shit, flies, maggots—these are standards. Photos of green fields and fluffy, clean-looking wool take careful timing. Gross is easy.

Dominance and subjugation are common, even with babies. Twins are the standard with Icelandic sheep. Something as simple as an injured teat might result in one sibling growing much faster, and as he becomes bigger, his ability to dominate the teat and continue to grow becomes firmer. Gradually, forcefully, the larger of the two starves their twin to death. That's the type of casual farm horror that raises the hair on the back of your neck. Similarly, in a litter of puppies, guardian dogs, the strongest latch on quickly to the mother's teats, and those will rapidly outsize the ones who had been slower or birthed last. This is especially an issue if there are more puppies than teats. The initial growth spurts will swiftly increase the difference in strength between the largest and smallest pups in the same litter, widening the distance between the siblings in terms of dominance and subjugation. (In the middle of the night, I crawled into the kennel myself, assisting the pups with latching on and feeling for warm, taut bellies. The original dog breeder advised, instead, to do nothing and let those pups die. One of the runts turned into the cleverest of the litter.) Since dogs are often kept as pets, people feel a strong sympathy for a puppy that they might not transfer to a lamb or chicken, or even to a fellow human.

Cold conversations regarding which animals will live and which will die are another farm norm. Eugenics is something that horrifies people only when applied to humans, and even there, a not insignificant number of humans believes that they personally represent the ideal, so those not like them should be culled to further their own traits. I, for one, have always despised being talked about as if I were a piece of meat. No shock there. I find it equally chilling, though, to hear those kinds of conversations aimed at living creatures who are, quite literally, viewed as walking pieces of meat. (I don't say this as a vegetarian. I eat meat.) Animals' various values, from meat to breeder, are weighed along with their health, age, and gene line based on past breeding. Then their names go on the live or die lists. Today's prized animal may, tomorrow, be first for the butcher.

The farmers here like to boast of how their animals live the best lives. They receive food and shelter. Depending on sicknesses and injuries, they receive medical care. (Or they go to the butcher. Or they go to sky burial.) However, whatever care and nurturing the animals receive is all with the intention that at the time most convenient to the farmers—perhaps at the height of the animal's strength or perhaps after a limiting injury—the creature will be butchered and eaten. Their entire purpose is food. Every comfort directed at them is for the end goal of eating them. What kind of story—what series of events—would it take to make readers give that thought a second glance? Now, maybe you're thinking that you have no desire to examine that idea. You're the meat eater. The meat is to be eaten. You're smarter or stronger than the beast. You train the beast to come to your hand, to do your bidding. You are the master. They are beneath you. Apex predators get to choose when and how and who gets eaten. Obedience and submission are the only roles of prey. Those that are unwilling will learn the power of the master.

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About Shannon Knight

Shannon Knight wrote Domestication while living on an Icelandic sheep farm in the Pacific Northwest. There are no skulls on her roof, but there are a suspicious quantity of bones kicking around the farm. Shannon graduated summa cum laude with a Bachelor's in English. She is the author of Grave Cold, Insiders, and Wish Givers. Sign up for her newsletter at https://www.shannonknight.net/.