When my mom was a little girl, she grew up in a lower middle class household in semi-rural Maryland. Times were tough, but she had Jenny to get her through these times. Jenny was her pet pot-bellied pig. One day, Jenny “went back to the farm”. Shortly afterwards, the family started to eat well (pork, I presume). She was devastated when she found out, but she got over it.

When my aunt was a young girl, she lived for a while in Spain. She spent a good deal of time at my great uncle’s farm in the Basque region where she befriended a little lamb (and I think she may have even named it, but I’m not sure). Later, when she was eating that lamb, my uncle decided to torment his little sister by pointing out to her exactly what (or perhaps who) she was eating. She was suddenly faced with a moral quandry: she either had to become a vegetarian, or just enjoy the DELICIOUS meal and accept this all as a part of life. (My aunt cooks up some of the best lamb I’ve ever had.)

Happy Thanksgiving, Micki!