Sacrificial Calf

Thanks to Corrin's blog, I have now found a part of my life that could be considered very mythological. During calving season, at least one pair of twins is bound to be born, and the mother almost never accepts both of them. This results in what we call a bum calf. Sally and I have always been in charge of taking care of this calf: feeding it, keeping its pen clean, and always taming it. Our parents, just as they used to tell us that Santa Clause was real, would tell us, when this calf was gone, that it had gone to green feilds where it ate all day and was cared for by wonderful people who loved it. Sadly, just as we found out that Santa wasn't real, we soon found out that this business about the mysterious disappearance of our bum calf was also a blatant lie. One day, sitting at the dinner table, my dad, evidently thinking we were old enough to accept the truth, piped up and said "Do you girls know what actually happens to your bum calves?" Us: "Of course, they are eating green grass, being loved by wonderful people. (I mean duh...you told us that)." Dad: "Actually, this is Thebes we are eating right now." Absolute devastation. I, of course, am no vegetarian, but it was hard to eat the meat that came out of our freezer for awhile, but just as children quickly learn to accept the gifts under the tree anyway, I learned to accept the fact that our bum calves were doomed to be sacrificed to the freezer gods. Also, my dad liked to give our calves names that were very mysterious to us when we were young, but as I read, I find them scattered throughout the millions of pages of literature my dad has read.

Interestingly, just as I had done in the beginning, I still let myself become attached to the bum calf. This might just be my soft heart, but according to the theory of myths, it is because it is the way it was done in the beginning, so naturally, it must continue. All I know is that I have trained myself not to think about what (or who) I'm eating. Mysterious mental maneuvers abound.