Chicken, why must we engage in a love/hate relationship? Oh, and this is a little bit of a gross post.

23 Jul

First of all, I grew up on a farm. I have seen chickens get their heads chopped off right in front of me at the youthful age of 10 while I was happily chomping on a delicious homemade roll. I would feed a chicken in the morning, and then, later that day, EAT IT FOR DINNER. This did not bother me. Not one bit. I knew that the chickens on our farm lived happy lives. No really, they did. They were free-range chickens, in the best possible sense of the word “free-range,” spending their time running wherever they wanted to whenever they wanted to, sometimes fishing for SNAKES in the creek that ran next to the barn where they slept, sometimes even roosting in trees (I’ve seen it with my own eyes, don’t tell me they don’t fly. They do, just not very well, or very far). They were happy chickens.

But, I also felt no remorse about eating said chickens because they are totally evil creatures. I would know. I grew up on farm, so don’t give me the “oh, but the chicks are so cute” deal because it’s all a lie. They’re evil, evil beings, which led me to easily consume the chickens that I had seen grow up from little babies with great vigor.

So, why do I believe chickens are evil? Well, I was once attacked by a rooster (and several geese, but that’s another story) when it was unreasonably impatient about getting it’s food for dinner, despite the fact that we both knew that rooster had been outside not long before sifting for grain in horse shit and eating bugs in the grass and cock-a-doodle-dooing like there’s no tomorrow. Still, that rooster scratched me all up, and I told on him, and then we ate him for dinner. They’re evil, man, totally evil.

Furthermore, they eat each other if they get bored. I’ve seen them do it. They will eat their own just because they need a little excitement. I’m sure in all translates into the whole survival of the fittest thing, but still, even if I was a little bit of a bully in grade school, I never pecked anyone to death and ate their intestines. That’s just not my style, but dear internet, it is the style of the chicken. Even when they are fresh and young and cute and just hatched in their little incubator thing, they will get hungry and eat each other. Seriously. They’re evil.

So, given the inherent evil quota found in your average farm chicken, I have never had a problem eating them. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think chickens should be kept in super-cramped cages and fed crap their whole lives either, but regardless, even chickens that should be unreasonably happy are still evil, evil creatures.

Something happened today though. I got fried chicken for lunch. And I started eating it, and then I ripped a big hunk of it off and there were little veins and grossness and I had to take my napkins and cover it up because, seriously ya’ll, I couldn’t look at it anymore, and I certainly couldn’t eat it. I started thinking about the skin and how that’s what my skin could look like if it was deep fried and it just freaked me the [expletive deleted] out. The little bones – ewwww.

All this from a girl who saw her best cow friend go to the market and come back in nicely wrapped packages that said things like “filet” on them. This from a girl who has, in fact, seen a chicken run around with its head cut off. This from a girl who didn’t mind watching chickens being gutted while chomping on the aforementioned homemade roll while making small talk with her mother.

I’m not sure if I’ve regressed, or if I’ve moved forward into a more healthy, loving the animals, 23-year-old woman. I can’t tell.

On a side note, this might be the beginning of me becoming a vegetarian again. I’m almost there anyway. Meat is not my favorite food group, and every few years I randomly decide that the sight of meat is totally unappetizing and makes me gag just a little and then I stop eating it for a year or two and then someone orders a delicious juicy steak and I have one or two bites and then the next day I’m at Burger King chopping on a dripping Whooper with cheese. True story folks, it’s happened before.

Life moves in cycles people, I guess that’s the point I’m trying to make.

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One Response to “Chicken, why must we engage in a love/hate relationship? Oh, and this is a little bit of a gross post.”

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. I’m learning to like myself better, really! (or, a self-exploration post) « questionable rationale - July 28, 2007

    […] the stories I always thought were too out-there to share.  I mean, how many people have been attacked by a chicken?  Or, better yet, how many people have been attacked by a chicken and then, later that week, […]

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