Yeah, my neighbors -real farmers- had those kind of names. I spent too much time looking in eyes and talking to them. The neighbors were much busier than me. (I even gave my two heifers last names on one slow day. Ruby and Pearl became Ruby Slippers and Pearl Buttons and they will always be so.) One of the roosters that had to go stayed …
Yeah, my neighbors -real farmers- had those kind of names. I spent too much time looking in eyes and talking to them. The neighbors were much busier than me. (I even gave my two heifers last names on one slow day. Ruby and Pearl became Ruby Slippers and Pearl Buttons and they will always be so.) One of the roosters that had to go stayed in the freezer, along with a leg of Patrick the ram, until I moved. Never could...never.
When I was a child, I was given a brown feathered pet chicken to take care of. She was precious. I carried her around, and she would follow me, to be petted.
My chicken mysteriously "flew away" one day. Broke my heart. Next day, my mom made chicken. Didn't make the connection until I was older.
Came home from school one day and my adorable white pet rabbit was hanging upside down by his back legs, on a branch of our plum tree. He blinked at me.
My dad was sharpening a knife. I screamed and begged amd pleaded with him. He laughed.
I ran to the pond and cried myself to sleep. Hid in the tall weeds until dark.
The following day my mom served up a skinless "chicken" but I was not so easily fooled that time. I refused my plate of dinner.
That was over 54 years ago. Some childhood trauma is never forgotten.
Yeah, my neighbors -real farmers- had those kind of names. I spent too much time looking in eyes and talking to them. The neighbors were much busier than me. (I even gave my two heifers last names on one slow day. Ruby and Pearl became Ruby Slippers and Pearl Buttons and they will always be so.) One of the roosters that had to go stayed in the freezer, along with a leg of Patrick the ram, until I moved. Never could...never.
When I was a child, I was given a brown feathered pet chicken to take care of. She was precious. I carried her around, and she would follow me, to be petted.
My chicken mysteriously "flew away" one day. Broke my heart. Next day, my mom made chicken. Didn't make the connection until I was older.
Came home from school one day and my adorable white pet rabbit was hanging upside down by his back legs, on a branch of our plum tree. He blinked at me.
My dad was sharpening a knife. I screamed and begged amd pleaded with him. He laughed.
I ran to the pond and cried myself to sleep. Hid in the tall weeds until dark.
The following day my mom served up a skinless "chicken" but I was not so easily fooled that time. I refused my plate of dinner.
That was over 54 years ago. Some childhood trauma is never forgotten.
Dang, that's heavy. Thanks for sharing.
We really should say a deep felt prayer of thanks every time we consume an animal.