In recent years many people have taken up raising chickens. Like me, there are those who could not conceive of eating their chickens. I am not even particularly fond of eggs; however, I use them often in my baking. I am a senior citizen so having more children is clearly out of the question, but the instinctual drive to nurture remains strong. Caring for animals, whether wild or domestic, is in my DNA.
When I was barely more than a toddler and lived with my grandmother in a small mountain town of Colorado, I was made to catch the chicken. Once it was caught, my grandmother set its head on the chopping block, severing its head from its body with an axe. It would then run around for a bit without its head. Afterwards, I was given the job of plucking out its feathers. This was normal country life for people in my grandmother’s era. They did not become attached to those animals that would be their dinner.
When my grandparents bought me a duckling for Easter, I was ecstatic. Naturally, due to imprinting, Quacky followed me everywhere. I never got to see her grow up because a short time later I was taken back to live with my mother. I received a letter from Grandma to let me know that Quacky had died when the lid to her box fell on her head. I accepted this news (with tears, of course) never questioning that this was the truth; but decades later, after relating the story to my husband, he suggested that my grandparents probably ate her for Sunday dinner. He was probably right.
Three years ago I had three chickens, but I had to give them up when I moved. I was broken hearted because of course I had become quite attached to them. The day after tomorrow I will be getting five peeps to raise and love. I am so excited. I have already picked out names for them. I adore cats and I love dogs, too; but chickens return so much more than what you give them. In a few months’ time they will begin laying eggs – probably far more than I can use. I know that I can shower my chickens with copious amounts of love and they will provide me with beautiful eggs that also happen to be a perfect protein. When they grow old and stop laying, I will continue to care for them as I would a cat or dog that had finally reached its senior years. Eating them though – never!
