Last year we raised 100 or so Freedom Rangers on about two acres.
Each day we moved their coop to a new spot and opened the door to give them the run of the place.
At the end of the season we gave them a short ride to the butcher and the next night bagged and froze them.
So when I handle a chicken I get from the freezer, I remember how they all did their chicken run to the feeder when I came out to the pasture last summer.
I remember all the water I poured out for them during the dry spell.
I remember scanning the sky for hawks and picking up the carcasses of the ones they carried off.
And I enjoy the crispy skin and moist insides at the table.
How about some leftovers for a picnic lunch in the backyard?
That is satisfying.