I stopped eating meat in August 2006.

My family and I were visiting the Denver Zoo. I had struggled with the complexity of being an animal rights advocating carnivore for some time. I grew up with dogs, cats, horses, sheep, goats, pigs, and at one time a few geese and rabbits. I also grew up in the trenches of the American meat industry. Western Kansas, sprinkled with cow cities, was my home for the first two decades of my life. Beef was served at almost every meal (except of course Fridays during Lent). Sometimes even the vegetables were served in beef (see: pot roast).

I refused from an early age to eat many animals: deer, lamb, pheasant. Basically I refused to eat anything that wasn't at one time a cow, a pig, a chicken, or a turkey. Even those animals were out of the question if I knew it personally during its life. One summer we had a pig named Curby that my brother had shown at the county fair. I'd probably only "met" Curby once during his short, and doomed, existence, but I was mortified when my dad informed me that the bacon I was happily chomping on was once living about 100 yards from my house. I never ate Curby again.

It defied logic, really: that I could not stand to eat an animal that had a name, or was born at my house, or was the prize from a fall hunting trip, yet anonymous chickens were fair game.
When I was at the Denver Zoo that August I realized the ridiculousness of my approach to meat consumption. I looked at the tigers and monkeys and bears in their cages and I wondered why we did not eat them. Why don't we eat giraffes? They're herbivores, after all. Zebras? Horses? Why don't eat cats or dogs? Why not serve Sheba at Thanksgiving instead of a turkey? Because turkey is the norm, and cats are not?

I realized at that point that I could not, in good conscience, continue my life as a meat-eater. I ate a hot dog at a Colorado Rockies game later that evening. As I bit into an odd assortment of pig parts under the late summer Colorado sky, I knew that would be the last meat I'd ever eat.

It wasn't so hard to make the switch to vegetarianism. I had never cooked meat, so living on my own it was pretty easy. It was only difficult when I went home, particularly at Thanksgiving.

My first veg (or as I like to say: cruelty-free) Thanksgiving was admittedly rather difficult. While I never wanted to kill turkeys, I did always find them tasty. Additionally, as the centerpiece of the Thanksgiving holiday, it was difficult to pass on tradition. Last year was much easier. The smell of the roasting bird flesh was nauseating and I was glad to not be indulging in it. Glad to not be benefiting from the death of another creature.

This year will be my first Thanksgiving not spent in Kansas with my family. Instead, Adam and I are spending the holiday with a few friends here in Portland. There will be a turkey, but I'm bringing a Tofurky for myself and the other vegetarians. As I think back to the difficulty of the first Thanksgiving, I am *thankful* that I stuck to my principles and did not cave in to the meat tradition and the lighthearted jabs from my beef country family. As others rip and tear into animal flesh, I'll be happily munching on my soy meat alternative.

Happy Thanksgiving!