Science

One of my first gigs (around age 8) was tending a couple dozen chickens. I even operated a crank-driven corn husker to prepare their meal. Even found a market for the corn cobs, which hunters valued as impromptu TP. But I digress.

With chores finished, I took time to observe and interact. I found the one putting up the least resistance to being held and calmed it down, stroking the feathers as I would a cat’s or dog’s fur. Every day afterward, I could scoop up the chicken into my arms without encountering the slightest resistance. I bonded in some small way with that bird, and in my imagination it was sad to see me leave every day.

I’m pretty sure I ate chicken before, during, and after that gig, and, yes, it does bother me if I think about it too much. I say this with a Cajun-spiced chicken breast in the fridge. Thing is, I didn’t know that chicken personally. If that’s a moral shortcoming on my part, I do try to do better.