Current mood:

amused

Is this a dead chicken?


I'm home sick again today--day eight and counting--and Zoe's out of school now. So I took her to Pollo Campero for lunch. She waved a piece of chicken at me.

"Is this a dead chicken?"

"Yes, honey."

"How did it die?"

"I don't know exactly." True enough. I don't know exactly how they, you know, "do it".

"Is this chicken?"

"Yes."

"Why is it brown and wrinkled on the outside?"

"Oh, that's a kind of bread they put on the chicken before they cook it."

"And this part inside, this part's the chicken?"

"Yeah."

"I think they have a long thing, like a kind of knife thing, and they take the chicken and WHACK!"

"And then what happens to the chicken?"

"They die. And then they take them to a special place, and they put that stuff on them that you told me about, and then we eat 'em."

"Yeah, I think that's pretty much it."

"Daddy, is the beak in there?"

"What?"

"Where's the beak? If this is chicken, there should be a beak."

"They take that out, honey."

"Why are you laughing?"

"Pretty much nobody wants to eat the beak."

"What about the feathers?"

"They take those off, too. Nobody wants to eat feathers."

"YUCK!"