Runkle Nathan - Mercy for animals: one mans quest to inspire compassion and improve the lives of farm animals

TIME : 1:24 a.m.

DATE : August 28, 2001

LOCATION : Buckeye Egg Farm, Croton, Ohio

POPULATION : 300

I m seventeen years old, hiding in the tall grass, clutching my backpack. My adrenaline is pumping, my heart pounding so fiercely it feels as though it might burst out of my chest.

My three partnersAmie, Jim, and Mandielie beside me. We are dressed in black from head to toe, spelunking lights strapped to our foreheads.

The glare of headlights sweeps over our heads as several huge, grain-filled trucks roll slowly past us, stopping just fifteen feet away. The drivers step out. They are here to fill the massive grain bins that supply feed to the more than one million animals who fill the long, windowless sheds beside us.

We continue to lie still.

What were doing is illegal. We know that. If caught, we could be thrown in jail. But the rewards are worth the risks.

Then Mandies cell phone rings.

Hello? she whispers. I cant talk right now. She hangs up.

I roll my eyes in disbelief. I dont know whether to laugh or flee. Luckily, the truck drivers hadnt heard the ringtone. The enormous industrial fans that ventilate the egg-laying shedswhich span the length of two football fieldsprovide excellent sound cover.

After ten minutes, the trucks still havent left. I decide its time to move.

Lets go, I whisper.

Crouching as low as possible, we run to the opposite end of the nearest shed, to a closed door. I try the knob. The door opens.

As we step inside, the overwhelming stench of ammonia immediately hits our noses and stings our throats. I shut the door, and we switch on our spelunking lights, illuminating the buildings dark interior. Ahead lie mountains of manure. The shed, like all the others on this farm, is crammed with egg-laying chickens. Overhead, the hens are crowded inside cages, each the size of a file-cabinet drawer, and each cage confining seven to ten adult birds. In these conditions, the birds are unable to fully spread their wingslet alone walk, perch, roost, dust bathe, or experience the most basic freedom of movement.

The wire cage floors are slanted, meaning the birds can never stand upright and that the eggs they lay will immediately roll away from them. The eggs then land on a fabric conveyer belt that gently hauls them away to an adjacent building, where they will be carefully cleaned to remove blood and feces and then placed in happily decorated cartons proudly declaring Farm Fresh Eggs.

That charming image is a far cry from the reality that lies before us. The endless rows of cages are stacked like stairs, allowing the birds feces to fall into the manure pit in which we now stand.

How are we going to get up there? Mandie asks.

We need to squeeze through that space between the floor and the cages, I answer, pointing up.

Amie, the smallest of the group, goes first. We huddle around her as she places a manure-coated foot into our cupped hands. We push, she pulls. She makes it.

Next up is Jim, followed by Mandie and then me.

When the four of us reach the sheds second floor, we find a sea of avian eyes staring at us, filled with curiosity and distress.

Next, we don rubber boot covers, surgical gloves, and masks to protect us from the dust and debris floating through the hot air. We then remove our black jackets, revealing T-shirts reading MERCY FOR ANIMALS . The sentiment is the official nameand the missionof the organization Id founded just a year and a half earlier.

We have come here for two reasons. First and foremost, we intend to investigate and document conditions inside one of the countrys largest egg-producing factory farms. Second, we plan to rescue animals who are dying from injury or neglect.

We fan out into two groups and get to work.

Amie and I form one team. Rats scurry around us as we tiptoe along the rows of cages, inspecting their occupants. Most of the hens are nearly naked from feather loss. Many are covered in their cage mates excrement. Some appear to have eye and sinus infections, broken bones, and bloody injuries.

I stop, unzip my bag, and remove a handheld video camera. I turn it on, check the tape, and switch on the light. We are ready to film.

Amie stands beside me and narrates as we slowly walk down the long aisles, carefully pointing the rolling camera into each cage. The birds, cowering together, look quizzically at us.

Amie spots a hen trapped between the egg-collection belt and the long feeding tray that extends under the row of cages. Her frail body is lodged in place, her wings pinned to her sides. Her cage mates have trampled her backside, rubbing away her feathers and leaving her delicate skin bruised and covered in cuts. But she is alive.

As my camera rolls, Amie explains what we are seeing.

We are at Buckeye Egg Farm in Croton, Ohio. Weve discovered a hen trapped underneath the feeding tray. Im now going to try to get her out.

Amie reaches down and tries to gently push the hens body backward to dislodge her. That doesnt work. She then tries to pull her in toward the cage. Still nothing. Amie next lifts the feeding tray. That works. The hen is now free.