To the Platter Born

My town is rural; I can tell you
it isn’t at all unusual to see
a cat adored, or a dog beloved
as much as any family member.

Some animals are born as food,
some animals are born to work,
and some are born as companions.
Each has its role on the farm.

Draft animals work for their meals,
raising food for human needs,
for theirs and other livestock feeds.
Other breeds are raised to be eaten.

Farm folk know the difference.
While they may pamper those others,
they’ll eat them all the same
and feed them to their pets.

3 replies on “To the Platter Born”

This is an older poem – from 2003 in fact. It was brought to mind by Sarah’s post “A Little Bit Country” on Pitching Pennies Poetry. This was written in response to a “challenge of the week” which was something about farmers and their pets.


Thank you Sarah. I was already old enough I knew that when the pigs, the cow, and the calf were taken off they were coming back as meat for our freezer. The chickens, turkeys, and ducks were killed and cleaned right there; my grandmother on my mother’s side came up to help. Even though I didn’t participate in the killing and cleaning (I suspect because they wanted it done right), I was there while it was being done. You can’t have many illusions about the source of fried chicken, etc., after that.


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