On the way to work this morning, we were driving behind a big semi that seemed to be “molting” as it drove down the highway. It was a truckload of chickens, no doubt on their way to the great coop in the sky. As we pulled out to pass, my husband noticed that one lone chicken had managed to escape its cage of doom only to find itself wedged between the cages and contemplating the benefits of death on the highway at 70 miles per hour against death at the slaughterhouse.
My husband must have been in a sentimental mood this morning. He said “I always feel so bad when I see a truckload of animals on their way to slaughter.” I asked him when he started feeling this sympathetic toward chickens and he said “Ever since I watched Chicken Run, I always think about how chickens must feel when there’s no hope of anything but the slaughter in their future.”
And you wonder why I arrive at work in the mood I do each morning? 6 a.m. is WAY too early for this type of contemplative thought. Especially when I arrive at the office and have to face Fat Chick, Henrietta and Gregory Pecked. It’s amazing what guilt will do to your day.
I don’t know what will happen to me if he starts feeling sorry for coffee beans…