Thank You Meaties

Today, twenty-six large white beautiful birds will lose their lives for us.
 
We are so grateful to have them provide for our family.  They have been loved.  They have been well cared for.  And, they are appreciated. 

I don't even want to sully their existence or my reverence for today, but I don't want to forget either.  A part time neighbor, almost in the old-lady category stopped down, thankfully while I was gone.  Upon seeing our meaties, as we so lovingly call them, in our front yard, she commented to my much- more-tolerant-than-me husband that it was like a concentration camp for chickens.
 
That hurt.  Had I been there I would have had to walk away.  But, this is what I would like to have been able to tell her:  We have given these chickens the best life they could possibly have, given their breed and reason for being bred.  They have been pampered with green grass and yummy treats, plenty of water and ample space, shade from the sun, and a secure coop at night.  Every night when I put them to bed I would thank them and tell them they were loved.  It's true.  They were with us but a few weeks, but we loved them.  Loved watching them, loved caring for them.  We loved watching them grow.  These meaties were as happy as any bird could be I suspect. 
 
Our ten year old daughter understands why we raise our own birds.  She loves chicken.  And she loves chickens.  This little child understands where her food comes from.  I would hazard a guess that she's more in touch with where her food, and food in general, comes from than most adults out there.  Almost-old-lady-neighbor being no exception.
With that, I guess we can only feel badly for the majority of people that are out of touch with their food.  If this old lady thinks that our healthy happy chickens represents a concentration camp, can you imagine if she saw how supermarket and food industry chickens (and beef and pigs and and and) were raised?!
 
Our freezer is stocked for well into the Spring with big, plump, natural chicken.  There are no mystery substances pumped into them, no antibiotics lingering in the carcass, no broken bones because of inhumane or improper handling and slaughter.  Every single time we pull one of our own meaties from the freezer we send up a thank you.  Our lives and our hearts are filled with appreciation for these dear creatures. 
 
And, you know what - they actually taste like chicken!