Eat more chicken

Eat more chicken

I’ve had an obsession with cows since I was a little kid.  Mostly Holsteins, but I really love ’em all.  They have the most soulful eyes.  They are an archetypal figure of maternal-ness/motherhood, which accounts for my fascination with them.  When I go to the county fair, it isn’t to eat the fries or play the games on the midway.  My only goal is to pet every cow that will allow me to do so.  I love the smell of the hay, and when I’m driving on a warm, late spring day, right after a farmer has spread manure:  I’m in heaven!  Cow poop.  The ultimate aromatherapy for me.

This lovely lady begged me over to the fence and asked me to post this plea for the consumption of more chicken (less beef implied).  She said the “Milk builds strong bones” is lost on the new generation.  I kindly complied. 

I didn’t tell her about the steak on Saturday, or the big juicy burger on Sunday. 

I’m still a meat-a-tarian, after all.

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