When I was young and my Mom & Dad were cleaning the turkey, it was tradition to name the naked bird in the sink. Since I hadn't seen it alive ~ or looked into it's baby brown eyes ~ or tweaked it's little beak, it wasn't a problem. So, we creatively named it EVERY YEAR, "Tom".
In my 56 years, 9 months and 15 days on this earth, I have had no trouble eating pig, chicken and cow remains. I never give it a thought that these are animals that are just a little different than my little pet yorkie-poo pooch, Bailey.
Now I know that none of them has ever begged me to play fetch ~ or snuggled up close during a thunderstorm ~ or asked me to scratch their belly. But I'm thinking that maybe I should stop eating animals that might feel the pain of a sharp ax blade creasing the neck.
But you all go ahead...enjoy your fowl.
I'll just eat the dressing.
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