Despite the fact that I am an unashamed carnivore, I hate getting stuck behind chicken trucks or cow trucks or any other kind of transportation of animals to their demise. The poor animals are packed in there like sardines, there is no shelter from the elements if it is super cold or rainy, and you know the last time those animals are getting out of those poop filled cages is before they get prepped to become someone's dinner. It's torture for me to just see the chicken trucks, so I can't imagine how the poor chickens feel. I think it's a guilt thing for me that those chickens are going to meet their maker simply because they are delicious baked, broiled, grilled or fried. So basically I feel majorly guilty that the chickens are going to die, but not enough to quit eating chicken.
I know I need therapy. Stick with me folks...
I got stuck sitting behind a chicken truck in a constuction zone on Thursday. We had to wait for the pilot car for 15 minutes, and the entire time I was sitting there I could feel the little beady eyes of those future chicken tenders staring at me like I was a conspirator to murder.
I thought my torture was over when the pilot truck finally got there to escort us through the construction. However, my joy of finally getting to move was short lived.
When we finally got moving again, I was stuck behind that darn chicken truck for 10 miles with no where to pass them, and I had millions of white chicken feathers flying at me like snow.
Remember the feather song from Forrest Gump? The beginning of the movie where the feather is flying sweetly through the air? This wasn't like that at all.
It was like the chickens were moulting in expectation of their impending doom.
I know it sounds irrational, but y'all, I was dying. Those little chickens were watching me, for 10 miles, losing their feathers the whole way, and I hated every second.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of driving 10 feather-filled-miles, the chicken truck turned down another road and I was able to drive guilt-free to my next destination. When I got out of the car, there were feathers stuck to my car which only gave me the heeby-jeebies again.
I guess the thing I feel the most guilty about? After driving behind the chicken truck for 10 miles, I ended up stopping at the only restaurant in the little town I was in, a Jack's, and I had chicken fingers for lunch.
I'm a terrible person.