It's amazing what you notice when it is "relevant to your interests," that was invisible before.
I'm planning to raise some meat birds next year, and have been reading the threads in this section for insight.
Yesterday I was in the poultry tent of the farm show (setup day), and "noticed" the dozen or so pens of meat birds there for the 4H/FFA competition. All cornish x rocks, of course.
Oh. My. Gawd.
They are disgusting and pitiable. I totally see why you are ready to be done.
They in no way resembled the other poultry there for the regular show, or my own pullets, or any other barnyard chicken I've ever seen. They were filthy, stinky, half-naked, bloated, and seemed to be barely hanging on to life. The ride over to the fairgrounds seems to have half-killed them, and it was not a terribly hot day. None of the other fowl seemed uncomfortable.
Freedom Rangers -- or some reasonable facsimile thereof -- it shall be! I'd be embarrassed to have visitors see animals like the farm show birds on my farm, and I'd feel guilty for keeping them alive. (Also, I don't have much interest in cossetting critters who are born looking for a comfortable place to die. Too much work. They gotta meet me halfway on the Will To Live scale.)
If you go to the online archives of the radio show This American Life, there's an installment of their annual "Poultry Slam." I don't remember which year -- maybe the second or third time they did it. One story is an interview with a poultry rescuer, who is crazy in oh-so-many ways, but here's the one of interest: At one point she starts on a rant about the horrible condition of some two-year-old "rescued" woulda-been broilers that she is keeping, how they can't walk properly because they were never meant to live this long. And the host, Ira, sort of gently points out that the people who bred them for slaughter wouldn't have allowed them to get to the point of suffering like that, and takes her to task -- it is her, the vegan chicken lover, who is keeping them alive in their suffering. (And I have to think -- as animate props for her diatribes against carnivores, not out of love.)
Now, having really looked at the broilers, I can only imagine the godawful condition of the chickens that city boy Ira was seeing.
I'm planning to raise some meat birds next year, and have been reading the threads in this section for insight.
Yesterday I was in the poultry tent of the farm show (setup day), and "noticed" the dozen or so pens of meat birds there for the 4H/FFA competition. All cornish x rocks, of course.
Oh. My. Gawd.
They are disgusting and pitiable. I totally see why you are ready to be done.
They in no way resembled the other poultry there for the regular show, or my own pullets, or any other barnyard chicken I've ever seen. They were filthy, stinky, half-naked, bloated, and seemed to be barely hanging on to life. The ride over to the fairgrounds seems to have half-killed them, and it was not a terribly hot day. None of the other fowl seemed uncomfortable.
Freedom Rangers -- or some reasonable facsimile thereof -- it shall be! I'd be embarrassed to have visitors see animals like the farm show birds on my farm, and I'd feel guilty for keeping them alive. (Also, I don't have much interest in cossetting critters who are born looking for a comfortable place to die. Too much work. They gotta meet me halfway on the Will To Live scale.)
If you go to the online archives of the radio show This American Life, there's an installment of their annual "Poultry Slam." I don't remember which year -- maybe the second or third time they did it. One story is an interview with a poultry rescuer, who is crazy in oh-so-many ways, but here's the one of interest: At one point she starts on a rant about the horrible condition of some two-year-old "rescued" woulda-been broilers that she is keeping, how they can't walk properly because they were never meant to live this long. And the host, Ira, sort of gently points out that the people who bred them for slaughter wouldn't have allowed them to get to the point of suffering like that, and takes her to task -- it is her, the vegan chicken lover, who is keeping them alive in their suffering. (And I have to think -- as animate props for her diatribes against carnivores, not out of love.)
Now, having really looked at the broilers, I can only imagine the godawful condition of the chickens that city boy Ira was seeing.