Apparently, Nelson is a little chicken plucker. I learned this, rather unfortunately, as he proceeded to chase down and pluck one of my dad’s pet chickens last weekend. The poor chicken was terrified and covered with cuts, but she survived.
A bizarre thing happened as my dad and I washed her off in the shower. Somewhere between rinsing the blood and dirt off of her plucked body and speaking to her in a soothing tone, I became increasingly nauseous. Her bare body looked like it was ready to put into the oven for dinner, yet she was staring up at me with scared little eyes. It is a strange experience to see food become something more than just meat to consume. I haven’t been able to eat meat since. I may never eat chicken again.