Blue was like a crazed person. Blue was, to me, a crazed person. He galloped furiously, as if he were being ridden, around and around his five beautiful acres. He whinnied until he couldn’t. He tore at the ground with his hooves. He butted himself against his single shade tree. He looked always and always toward the road down which his partner [Brown, the mare] had gone. And then, occasionally, when he came up for apples, or I took apples to him, he looked at me. It was a look so piercing, so full of grief, a look so human, I almost laughed (I felt too sad to cry) to think there are people who do not know that animals suffer.
-Alice Walker in the essay Am I Blue? 1986
I am so sick of people telling me which animals I am allowed to sympathize with and which are dirty, diseased, and unworthy of humane treatment. That logic is so fucked up.
And I don’t have to write any more about it because Amber already said it in an essay about the mice we fumbled through evicting from our kitchen.