The belief

I see a few boys torturing a chameleon. I just fly into a rage. I can not stand by looking at this atrocity. I go over and give them a piece of my mind. They have tied the poor creature to a string and have been dangling it about. I let it go. For a few seconds it just sits there trying to collect its wits. And then it runs away as fast its short legs can carry it. The boys kick a few stones in anger. They eye a stray dog and glance furtively at me. I shake my fist at them. I know the dog is in for a hard time.
I have always had a soft spot for animals. I always fed the strays that came home. I named the dogs alphabetically. The cats were numbers. My mother always ran out of biscuits and milk for guests because of this. I got thrashed by my father. And I always thought I would grow up to be a veterinarian. Or at least a worker in care of animals.
I reach my office. It is a huge building. I see workers scurrying about. I go to my locker. Get my scrubs out. My employer insists on hygiene. They are almost fanatic about it. You see, the least discrepancy will get them locked out. I put it on. My gloves are clean. I change them every four hours. And I go to work.
I work in the meat and chicken factory. My job involves checking the meat and chicken is free of skin and feathers. I worked earlier in the de-feathering department. Dousing the birds in hot water to remove their feathers. I asked for a transfer after a few weeks. It was this department or getting the sack.
Beliefs are nice. I believe that everyone should be treated kindly. But when my father is dead, my mother ailing with cancer- treatment so expensive that I take loans, the wife and I have to work with whatever we find to make ends meet for our children too.
I only hope the dog was not stoned too badly.