Tastes like chicken

Ever since we got our first three chickens, oh, maybe six years ago, we've been talking about what has to come at the end. One of the big ideas we used to rationalize our chicken acquisition was the idea that "if we don't like having chickens, we'll just eat them.". Easier said than done, of course, for a couple of gen-Xers who had once made a mess of killing a sick, half-dead mouse.
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And for the last few months, we watched the twelve new chicks get bigger, taking more and more room. The ten old ones slowly decreased production, with fading feathers. We knew the clock was ticking.

Because here's the thing. These animals are the backbone of our civilization and our entire food supply. It's obvious that eating meat requires the death of an animal. Other things, not so much. Maybe you think that eating eggs doesn't kill a chicken? Then you've never wondered what happened to the male chicks that hatch. And you've never wondered what happened to 'spent' hens. And you've never seen hens in battery cages, absolutely, positively stark raving mad; like Rochester's wife in Jane Eyre, they'd set fire to the place if they could.

And maybe you think that drinking milk is ok, or eating cheese, or yogurt. No cows get killed to bring you dairy products, you think. But then you've never connected the dots between pregnancy and milk production. And you've never wondered what happened to the calf that is born each and every year to each and every dairy cow. Hint: think milk-fed veal. A surprising number of really smart people that I personally know, have never made the connection between milk and babies.

Or maybe you think veganism is IT. You'll just eat plant products. But you never wondered where fertilizer comes from. And you never asked about the danage to the soil from heavy crop rotations. And you've never wondered about the best way to help a field recover from years of heavy crop rotations. And it never occurred to you these systems evolved, (and were bred, in some cases,) to support each other. The animals and the plants all form part of an inter-connected set of loops. If you pull out one piece, the whole thing becomes a rat's nest of tangles, like when you accidentally start the yarn skein by pulling the wrong turn. This is what the dust bowl taught us---that animals and plants go together. Modern, out-of-the-box thinkers like Joel Salatin are proving that imitating the intensive grazing of bison or antelope results in dramatic increases in soil fertility, crop production and animal health. That putting animals on the land is the BEST way to rejuvenate it. And then what?

All of which may be seen as a rationalization for what we did today, or as a genuine conversion, over several years, to a different way of thinking. To a vision of the connectedness of the world, in which I play a significant part in the life and death of its creatures. I could hide my head, and pretend I have no responsibility and no part to play. I could let all of my sustenance be gathered by underpaid, overworked people in horrible working conditions from animals living in conditions that I would not allow to exist inside my toilet. Or I can be vegan, and eat adulterated soy products, full of salt, and unpronouncable chemicals, made from soy obtained from farmers at prices that don't produce a living wage. Or maybe i could be vegan and eat only beans and rice, grown with petroleum-based fertilizers and huge carbon inputs in the form of tractor fuel, pesticides and herbicides. Or maybe I can be vegan, and eat only beans and rice produced on organic, sustainable farms. In which case they'd better have some animals around for fertilizer, and I'm back where I started... Or I can open my eyes, walk in the world, and be as humane as possible, as grateful as possible, while still realizing that infinity chickens is bad for everyone. We can't keep them all when they are done laying. Death comes to everyone, and it's not clear to me that it's more humane to let them get sick and suffer and THEN die.

So we killed a chicken today that we knew well. We knew her waking and sleeping habits. We knew what she was like when she was brooch, and when she wasn't. We knew that she would invariably peck the younger chicks fiercely on the top of the head when they tried to get to the water. We killed her. Then we ate her. She was a tough old bird, so we made broth and chicken salad out of her, and it will take us at least a week to finish every (truly flavorful) morsel. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't pleasant, and I would not say I enjoyed it. But it was the responsible, grown up thing to do. And there is satisfacton in knowing that she did not suffer. She had a really good life, and about 3 really bad seconds. I should be so lucky.

'NATURE is cruel. But we don't have to be.'---Temple Grandin