36×36 oil on canvas
I have castrated both lambs and calves by the hundreds and without the use of anything to deaden their pain. More especially, it was the lambs, their intestines that sometimes spilled out onto the ground. And yet, I possibly could have saved them, but I didn’t take the time. Always, I was way too busy castrating others just to get through yet another day.
Those dying lambs still tried desperately to follow their bleating mothers back to pasture, some in such excruciating pain that they walked with only their front legs, as if trained entertainment to an audience that was not there.
Excerpt from Steps: A Memoir