I love eggs. I love a poached egg on toast. Or I did love an egg.
Trouble is a couple of weeks ago we were given a couple of chooks. Two old boilers. I immediately named them Fiddle and Faddle, because that’s what they do. They fiddle and faddle about the place. They are wonderful to see strolling about and they peck and fuss and carry on.
When they were given to us they didn’t look that great. They were the survivors of a ferret attack. Apparently they had spent some hours dodging a ferret that had gotten into their pen and had killed several other birds. They have since recovered, calmed down and look robust and healthy.
Fantastic, I thought, we will give them a good home and we have plenty of space and a chook run ready to be occupied. They will thrive and be very happy and we will have fresh eggs every day, all organic and stress free.
Trouble is I remembered my agriculture class from school. One day the teacher brought in some dead chooks and before you know it, he had sliced them open and was busily explaining how eggs are made.
All that memory came flooding back. When I look at the chooks constantly pulsating arses and think about their egg production and those eggs coming out of that constantly pumping arse…..I just feel queasy. Suddenly I have a real aversion to eating something from a birds bum.
I know its silly. I will toughen up and get over it. It was just better not having to have a “face to arse” reality check about where eggs come from.
Every day I gather a warm egg fresh from the guts of one of the hens and quietly file it away for the kids school lunch. Perhaps when I can get a dozen saved up I can give some to friends in a carton.
I have started to consider every animal product I am consuming and its means of production. It’s horrifying really. I am sure if I ever visited an abattoir I would never eat meat again.
I think I will become a vegetarian/fruitarian.
Consuming animals and their products seems so…….gross…..disturbing…..carnivorous.
The Thing About Hens
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