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I have a rooster story.
When I was a kid, some stores would sell baby chicks at Easter time. Sometimes they’d be dyed pastel colors. My parent got one for me when I was maybe 5-ish years old. Of course, it grew into a big ole rooster. He was as white as could be, a beautiful guy. I called him Whippy because to my 5-year-old mind, he reminded me of whipped potatoes.
I don’t remember if he was mean or not, but when he was big enough, my dad killed him, plucked him, and cooked him for a Sunday dinner.
I was devastated. I remember my dad trying to make light of it and trying to make me laugh by making the plucked carcass dance.
Horrible.
Quote:
Originally Posted by clevergirl67
My husband's friend raised a pig from a piglet. They allowed their kid to name him Wilbur and let him get close to it. He even sometimes slept with this little pig.
Well when the pig turned one years old and at its max weight, the friend took it to be processed. The kid came home from school and went to see Wilbur like he did everyday. He was gone so he asked about him, and the friend told his kid the pig was at the vet.
A few days later after a rib dinner, the kid asked when the pig was coming home. The friend said he was already back, that he had just eaten him, and then he started laughing. The kid was horrified.
He never ate meat again. His mother divorced the guy (for that and other issues of abuse), and the kid does not speak to his dad to this day.
I have never understood why my husband is friends with this guy.
Good grief those are horrible things to do to children.
Pets or livestock, not both, and never name livestock.
My dad raised a couple of hogs. He named them (Vernon and Bula) and would sit on a stump next to the pig pen and talk to them. I could tell it bothered him when we ate them and he was a hardened old man.
Good grief those are horrible things to do to children.
Pets or livestock, not both, and never name livestock.
My dad raised a couple of hogs. He named them (Vernon and Bula) and would sit on a stump next to the pig pen and talk to them. I could tell it bothered him when we ate them and he was a hardened old man.
I named a doe and her yearly twin fawns. They did not make it to the freezer.
My husband's friend raised a pig from a piglet. They allowed their kid to name him Wilbur and let him get close to it. He even sometimes slept with this little pig.
Well when the pig turned one years old and at its max weight, the friend took it to be processed. The kid came home from school and went to see Wilbur like he did everyday. He was gone so he asked about him, and the friend told his kid the pig was at the vet.
A few days later after a rib dinner, the kid asked when the pig was coming home. The friend said he was already back, that he had just eaten him, and then he started laughing. The kid was horrified.
He never ate meat again. His mother divorced the guy (for that and other issues of abuse), and the kid does not speak to his dad to this day.
I have never understood why my husband is friends with this guy.
I agree - obviously the guy was emotionless when it came to animals, and he didn't seem to be a lot better with his son.
I have a rooster story. When I was a kid, some stores would sell baby chicks at Easter time. Sometimes they’d be dyed pastel colors. My parent got one for me when I was maybe 5-ish years old. Of course, it grew into a big ole rooster. He was as white as could be, a beautiful guy. I called him Whippy because to my 5-year-old mind, he reminded me of whipped potatoes.
I don’t remember if he was mean or not, but when he was big enough, my dad killed him, plucked him, and cooked him for a Sunday dinner.
I was devastated. I remember my dad trying to make light of it and trying to make me laugh by making the plucked carcass dance.
Horrible.
We had one that lived 2 maybe 3 years. Meanest rooster I ever seen; he would stalk us. Walking in the yard he would come at us, you turn to look at him he would pretend to be eating. Start walking again, turn to look for him, he would be closer. This would continue until he flogged you or you ran away from him.
My husband's friend raised a pig from a piglet. They allowed their kid to name him Wilbur and let him get close to it. He even sometimes slept with this little pig.
Well when the pig turned one years old and at its max weight, the friend took it to be processed. The kid came home from school and went to see Wilbur like he did everyday. He was gone so he asked about him, and the friend told his kid the pig was at the vet.
A few days later after a rib dinner, the kid asked when the pig was coming home. The friend said he was already back, that he had just eaten him, and then he started laughing. The kid was horrified.
He never ate meat again. His mother divorced the guy (for that and other issues of abuse), and the kid does not speak to his dad to this day.
I have never understood why my husband is friends with this guy.
Why not, he sounds like a compassionate man.
people I know, who keep chickens, do so with no roosters.
people I know, who keep chickens, do so with no roosters.
Do they name them, make pets of them, sleep with them? How about out of the blue tell their kids they are eating their pet? I dont see anything compassionate about that. Kids get attached to a pet whatever species it may be, dog, cat, pig, rooster.
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