Their folks owned a dairy farm.
The old fashioned, metal cans filled with milk they cooled in the stream that ran through their milk house kind of dairy farm.
The kind where the farm wife, Mrs Schlick strutted out to the chicken house early Sunday morning, in her black rubber galoshes and plucked a plump bird from the roost and off-with-its-head before 7 am kind of farm.
She had that bird gutted, plucked and in the oven before we left for mass. Ready for her to make up some mashed potatoes and gravy and three bean salad in her red gingham apron when she got home for a 2 pm Sunday dinner.
I thought of them all today when we got the call from our friends Emma and Kioshi, that the chickens we'd ordered with them had arrived.
Meet the Freedom Rangers (with a name like that they should be wearing little crime-fighting capes)
Adorable now, they are here for just one purpose, future Sunday dinners. All 25 of them will have a very decent upbringing up until D-day. They will be warm and cozy in a brooder box for the first couple weeks and then out they go.
Onto green grass where fat worms and fuzzy bugs will supplement their diet of organic grain fresh water and raw milk. They will grow big and healthy and yummy. In 12 weeks it will be Off-with-their-heads time.
We will do it assembly line style. Deaths will be quick and humane. Birds will be gutted and cleaned outside on a large stainless steel counter with running hose water. They will be dropped in hot water to loosen feathers and be plucked clean then immediately frozen and put in our freezers.
Sunday dinner will be promptly at 2 PM.