Did we die it?

I get squeamish about meat.

I eat it, but I leave cooking, rubbing, deboning, filleting, to others.

I prefer to avoid talking about from whence the meat on my plate came.  I don’t mind when I am not eating giving proper credit, but please let me eat in peace.

Craig made some fine barbecue ribs this weekend.

As I started to savour, “Is this pig?”

Yes, no, maybe it’s cow.

COW!!!! Did we die it?

Yes.  Well the butcher killed it.



How?  With a knife?

With a big knife!


No sacred cows in this family!


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