Bestowing “freedom” upon an animal has become an act enshrined at the highest level of civic duty. In 1863, Abraham Lincoln’s Christmas turkey was freed after Lincoln’s son, Tad, “interceded on behalf of its life,” as White House reporter Noah Brooks wrote a few years later. Turkeys were given presidential reprieves sporadically until Ronald Reagan made it into a cherished Thanksgiving tradition, complete with a televised address that’s often a stew of dad jokes and bad puns. Unlike daring farm escapees who have the public clamoring for their release, these pardoned toms have done little to deserve their freedom. After they meet the president, they fade into obscurity for the remainder of their short lives—which often last less than a year, thanks to generations of breeding that have made them meatier at the expense of frail organs.
But does animal freedom need to be deserved? Or is “freedom” something only humans can bestow, an ethical order imposed on the chaos of keeping animals in our daily lives? Animals escape from zoos, farms, laboratories, and even odder locales, such as nativity scenes or assisted-living facilities, all the time. For a species that loves to see other animals enclosed and domesticated, why do we love it even more when they run away from us?