The 99 percent

Should I tell the farm visitors that our chickens aren't part of the 99 percent? That their lives differ from most chickens?

On some days -- when the temperatures are below freezing, when the mud squishes up to my ankles, when I'd like to sleep an extra 30 minutes rather than deal with critters, when I'm doctoring a lamb, when I'm writing out farm care instructions so that we can get away -- I wonder if it's worth the effort to raise, humanely-raised meat.

Then, there are days like today, when I read the New York Times, and am reminded why I participate in this crazy farm life.

The first is a report on what is in factory-farmed chicken.

The second is on meat inspections.

 This morning, as I look out the window at the Buckeye chickens roaming the pastures, eating clover and scratching for bugs and worms, I think that inefficiency may sometimes be a good thing, and how glad I am that they aren't among the 99 percent.