By Dennis D. Montoya
When people find out I’m a vegetarian, they usually ask why.
I give the polite answer: “ethical reasons.”
Most people accept that and move on. Every once in a while, though, someone asks for the real story.
So here it is.
The real reason started with my dog… and a plate of bacon.
I grew up with dogs. Always two of them, loyal, loving, goofy companions who were as much a part of the family as anyone. Cats? I love them too, but I’m allergic, so no dice. Growing up, I lived out in a rural area with pigs, horses, chickens… the whole back-home-farm spread.
I loved hamburgers, bacon, chicken breasts, and Thanksgiving turkey.
All of it. I wasn’t remotely leaning toward vegetarianism.
Fast-forward about twenty-five years. I’m working as a nurse, fixing up an old house. One morning I’m drinking coffee and flipping through the newspaper when I see an article about Egypt importing dogs to be used as cattle.
I didn’t understand it at first. Dogs as cattle? What does that even mean?
Then I understood. They were consuming dog meat instead of beef.
I looked down at my own dog, Pete. A big yellow lab with soft brown eyes sitting by my leg, tail thumping, expecting a piece of toast or maybe a bit of scrambled egg. Suddenly, I felt horrified.
How could anyone kill and eat dogs?
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Because life has a dark sense of humor, I looked at my own plate: eggs, bacon, potatoes.
Suddenly I had a problem. Why did I feel morally shattered at the thought of eating a dog… while eating a pig? A chicken? A cow? Why is one life sacred and another disposable?
That question bothered me. For months it bothered me, more like haunted me.
I tried to rationalize it every way possible:
- Dogs are smarter. Except pigs are unbelievably smart.
- Dogs are pack animals. So are cows, pigs, chickens—hell, so are we.
- Dogs are companions. Only because we decided they were.
In those months, every argument I made fell apart in my hands. Eventually, the truth was simple:
If I say I could never eat my dog, then eating another animal, just because it wasn’t named Pete or curled up at my feet, felt hypocritical.
I’m not naïve. I can’t change the world’s eating habits. I know anything I choose for myself won’t make a dent in the grand scheme of things. People everywhere will eat what they eat, including dogs and cats and animals I grew up with.
I couldn’t change the world, but I could change my own behavior. Something like, taking responsibility for my own actions.
So I pushed myself into a corner and left only two choices:
- Keep eating bacon and admit I was okay eating one kind of animal but not another.
- Or stop contributing to the killing altogether, even if my piece of the puzzle was small.
I chose the second.
Not because I think everyone should. Not because I’m trying to convert anyone.
Not because I’m morally superior, far from it (though occasionally I do feel that way).
I just wanted my actions to match my ethics, even if no one else ever noticed.
And that’s why I stopped eating meat.
A small choice, maybe, but one I can live with.
“Is it difficult to be a vegetarian?”
People ask me that fairly often.
The honest answer is that it can be inconvenient. Walk into almost any fast-food restaurant, and meat is easy to find. For most of my life, it was also the center of nearly every meal I ate.
The good news is that food is changing. Vegetarian options are more available now than ever, which makes things much easier.
There is good news, food is changing. Alternative options are more available now than ever, which makes things easier. And I still remember the very first vegetarian meal I ate on purpose: a big baked potato with broccoli on the side.
I stared at it thinking. So this is what I eat now, I am a vegetarian.
I took a bite. It was satisfying good. The kind of good that makes you wonder what else you’ve been overlooking.
“Don’t you miss eating meat?”
Occasionally, I still want a side of sausage gravy. But over the years, I’ve learned to navigate menus, experiment with food, and find meals I genuinely look forward to eating.
Maybe I won’t hold the same views forever. Perhaps one day I’ll stop being a vegetarian. But not today. Today, this choice still feels right.
🔥 Reflection from the Forge
I’ve learned something about myself through all this: I try not to form strong opinions, because once I do, I end up testing myself against them. They become a kind of internal measurement I can’t ignore. And when I finally understood what I believed about eating animals, I realized I had to live up to it.
It’s not a perfect choice. It’s just the one that feels true to me.
This habit of not having strong opinions makes my wife a little crazy.
Ask me where I want to go for dinner and I’ll shrug.
“It doesn’t really matter to me.”
Tell me to pick a restaurant and I’ll blink at her like a golden retriever waiting for instructions. She’ll growl, I’ll laugh, and eventually she makes the call.
I don’t mean to make her life harder. I don’t.
She also knows that when something finally settles in my chest, when a belief decides it’s sticking around, I listen to it. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when it changes my life in unexpected ways.
Vegetarianism was one of those times. Funny how a random article I read twenty years ago ended up changing the way I eat.
— Dennis
Author Note
Dennis D. Montoya is a fantasy and literary fiction writer exploring themes of connection, memory, and resilience. He writes from the intersection of storytelling and healthcare, where empathy is both a craft and a calling.
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Dennis D Montoya 