PLACING THE BLAME

Yesterday –or maybe it was two days ago, time begins to lose its accountability- someone sent me a PPS (pictures and words) titled “The Eggs You Eat”. I knew what I was in for if I opened it, and I opened it anyway. I watched, each moment more pained, the photos of four or five hens cooped together in spaces too small even for one, of beaks cut with hot pliers so that the birds could not peck each other fighting for what little space they could, of wings and breasts featherless and bleeding from incessant rubbing by wires that band the cage, of animals too exhausted to even stay on their feet from laying day in and day out as many eggs as possible. My chest hurt when the pictures finished. Continue reading