Cannibal Chickens

Lesley has chicks.  Baby chicken-type chicks.  In her house.  Four adorable balls of feathery fluff.  I can barely contain my “squeeeee” of joy within the confines of my head.  I have picked them all up – pressed them against my cheek.  They are fluffy yellow examples of the perfection of our universe.

I just found out that these chicks are ‘eating chicks.’  By that, they are meant for eating.  Not, as Rissa and David supposed when I explained this to them, cannibal chicks who are eating other chicks.  Lesley will be slaughtering these chicks after they become full-grown chickens, and then, she will eat them.  These baby chicks whom I pressed to my cheek.

And I’m going to help her do that.  Because I think I need to know how to do this.  You know, when Armageddon comes, we’ll all be living on homesteads in the remaining wilds of Canada raising our own food, and I’m going to need to know how to slaughter chickens and whatever else that can be food, including humans.  ‘Cause ME turning into a cannibal??  After Armageddon, that’s gonna be an eventuality.  I know human is supposed to taste like chicken and all that, but say you’ve spent the last several months/years with George the cobbler, or ferrier or whatever in post-Armageddon times George does… I don’t know if I’m going to be able to eat George on account of the fact that we’d have had a relationship of sorts, you know because he makes my shoes or puts shoes on my horse – which is all we’ll have left for transport, because it’s after Armageddon and we’ll all be riding horse or elk or reindeer – and then when the regular food runs out we’re going to have eat the Georges of this world  and I want to be prepared for that eventuality. So I’m starting with chicks.