My chickens have not been born yet, but the dates of their death have already been set. In early June, August, and October, we are planning to load up our truck with birds in crates and drive them them to a local meat processor, which is quite a popular place. If I had waited much longer to call the business, its schedule might’ve been full.
As I wrote down the processing dates on the calendar, I paused, thinking that I was forgetting something important. My mom finally cleared it up for me when she remarked that one of those days is my wedding anniversary.
“That will be a happy day for everyone!” said my mom, who is glad that my husband and I feel the way we do about each other.
“Yes it will be a happy day,” I answered. “Except not for the chickens.” My goal is that my chickens should have only one bad day in their lives, but that bad day is really a doozy. “Maybe it will be a happy day for them because they will go on to their eternal reward,” I stammered. It isn’t too much of a stretch to think such a thing. St. Francis of Assisi apparently preached to birds, and in at least one instance, they seemed to listen to him. I bet my poultry would listen to St. Francis of Assisi if he wandered by their coop. But I guess I should not be so sure yet. After all, how do you judge the spiritual condition of chickens you have not met?
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