The day after I buried Gertie I had to go to the supermarket and just inside the door I saw this. A pile of dead chickens. Heads cut off, legs tied together, corpses sold as food. Every one of them had a personality, friends, family, likes and dislikes. Every one of them was less than 2 months old. Every one of them had a miserable short life and every one of them would have struggled to stay alive before having their throat slit and being dragged through boiling water (this washing water is called faecal soup by the workers because it is so full of shit and dirt). Every one of them wanted to live. Every one of them was just like Gertie, and Becky, and Lucy. #AnimalsAreNotFood
Posted on: Sat, 27 Dec 2014 00:53:46 +0000