Seeing the goats, cows, and mules pass in their herds, guided by shepherds who smiled and said "namaste," filled me with joy. It gave the impression that the Nepalese people think more highly of their animals than I might have assumed. But as the trek went on, and with the contrast of life in Pokhara, I started to wonder: What does a people’s treatment of animals really say about them?
Animal handling in the mountains
On our second day of the hike, we saw a Nepalese man forcibly dragging a goat behind him. Based on what I could see, I initially thought the goat was dead, but judging by its screaming, I quickly realized it wasn’t. The high-pitched bleats - unlike anything I’d normally associate with a goat - echoed through the mountains as they passed us. A deep sense of helplessness and sorrow washed over me. I was heartbroken, unable to do anything but watch.
Looking back on the situation (and my initial feelings of anger, frustration, and sadness), I may not have interpreted it as objectively as I could have. There was a group of goats circling around them as they trod along - who’s to say the goat was being mistreated? Maybe it had broken a leg and couldn’t walk, and the shepherd was simply trying to get it back to town to receive care. The situation definitely showcased the goat’s stubbornness - lying down, refusing to move, despite being dragged on the rocky path. It may have just been the nature of goats more than cruelty.
The mule on the mountain
Later that day, while hiking up a hill - I would call it a mountain, but hey, in Nepal, altitude is viewed differently than in the Netherlands -we encountered another troubling sight. Two men were descending with two mules. From a distance, I noticed the second mule wasn’t walking properly. Its back leg twisted outward; it looked broken, or perhaps it had once been and hadn’t healed right. They seemed to be chasing the poor animal, who was carrying two heavy bags down a narrow, rocky trail. There were so many stones, it couldn’t figure out how to place its leg. It was painful to watch, and I didn’t know what to do. I could’ve yelled at the men - but what would I say? That what they were doing wasn’t okay? That they were abusing the animal?
I huffed and stomped the rest of the way up the trail, steam coming out of my ears. I hated the idea of supporting people or villages that mistreated animals.
Were my feelings justifiable?
But then again - who am I to judge? Did I interpret what I saw correctly? Or did I let my emotions and personal beliefs take over?
Later, I talked to Alex (one of the girls I’ve been traveling with) about how easy it is to be judgmental when people live lives that resemble how others lived 200—or even more—years ago. Even if I can understand their circumstances, am I able to withhold judgment when their ways don’t align with my own values? Can I respect their traditions even when I don’t agree with them? People using animals to carry heavy loads may seem harsh - but perhaps it’s rooted in necessity, not disregard. Wouldn’t such reliance deserve at least some mutual respect?
And then again, did I read the situations correctly? Even when you try to be objective, do our own feelings, experiences and perceptions create a filter on reality? After all, I only saw a fraction of their lives. Who am I to assume they don’t love or care for their animals in their own way? How much of what I felt was based on truth - and how much came from my own lens?
The other side of the coin
In Pokhara, I noticed something else: all the dogs sleep right in the middle of the sidewalks. At restaurants, they curl up at people’s feet, and no one chases them away. Even when they’re lying in inconvenient places, staff gently try to move them - if at all. At our hostel, the dogs come and go freely. The manager told me that nearly every backpacker brings a dog with them during their stay. These dogs are clearly part of the rhythm of life here.
What struck me most: the dogs sleep in the middle of the streets. That shows a tremendous level of trust toward the people around them. And even better, the dogs in Pokhara, Kathmandu, and the remote villages never seem underfed. They all appear healthy and cared for.
What does a human’s treatment of animals say about them?
Despite the two painful experiences on the trail, I do believe the Nepalese people treat their animals better than we do in the West. Yes, some shepherds throw small stones at mules to keep them moving - but often, that’s because there’s a long line of mules walking along a narrow, uneven path barely a meter wide. They have to keep the group moving somehow. But at the same time, these animals roam freely. They walk throughout the day, eat fresh grass where possible, rest, and breathe clean mountain air. They’re not confined - they’re part of the environment they live and work in.
And yes, shepherds may use sticks to guide animals - but isn’t that still far more humane than the electronic cattle prods often used in our industrialized systems?
Isn’t the life they offer their animals better than the two square feet we give our cattle?
Final Thoughts
It’s easy to judge what we don’t understand. But perhaps I should ask more questions before forming conclusions.
Animal treatment reflects our values - our priorities, our kindness, and our limitations. But it also reflects our survival, our traditions, and the environment we live in.
Maybe compassion and practicality aren't always at odds. Maybe they walk side by side, just like the mules on the mountain trail.
