There’s an unspoken rule on the farm: everything has a purpose, and when that purpose is no longer fulfilled, freezer camp is the logical next step. Simple, right? Ruthless efficiency. No room for sentimentality.
Except, apparently, I am a liar.
See, I told the Mister the same thing I tell myself: if an animal isn’t maintaining condition, isn’t producing well, or doesn’t fit in the program, it’s time to move on. That’s why, when one of my does proved she was not cut out for breeding, I offered him the option of keeping her as a pet, knowing he’s not great with the whole turning livestock into food aspect of farming.
He turned me down, understandably—he doesn’t have time for a pet. Fair enough. That’s when I told him, “At any time, if you get attached to one, we’ll keep it.”
Cue immediate self-incrimination.
Because there’s one hen on this farm who is exempt from every test, every standard, every rule. Her name is Hedwig, and she gets a free pass for life.
The Exception That Proves the Rule
Hedwig came from the feed store as a tiny fluffball, and somehow, against all odds, she became my buddy. She’s the only hen I named, the only one I actively look for every day, the only one who used to sit on my shoulder while I fed and still jumps up sometimes.
Now, we’re egg testing our hens this year—seven days of tracking production, separating each hen to see what she lays. Anything under four to five eggs per week gets a red band and goes to freezer camp.
Logical. Fair. Efficient.
Except Hedwig has not been tested, and I already announced that her results don’t matter.
She could lay one egg a week. Zero eggs a week. She could spend her days dramatically swanning about like some kind of retired aristocrat, and she’s still staying.
And the most ridiculous part? It’s not even surprising—because Harry Potter is deeply embedded in my life anyway. My youngest daughter? She’s named after Luna Lovegood. Yep. We are that kind of household. So really, Hedwig never stood a chance at being impartial livestock—she was always destined for VIP status.
The Fine Line Between Farming and Sentimentality
There’s a lesson here, I think—about how no matter how pragmatic we try to be, no matter how much we preach the gospel of responsible farm management, there will always be exceptions.
The rabbits? I’m test breeding everything this year before making culling decisions, and I already feel myself leaning toward favorites despite trying to stay objective.
The chickens? The roosters always get names. They’re recognizable, important, different. And somehow, Hedwig slipped through the cracks of my supposed impartiality, proving that no farm is 100% business all the time—there’s always a little room for attachment.
So yes, freezer camp exists. Yes, animals serve a purpose. Yes, I will absolutely enforce my standards… except when I won’t.
And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with Hedwig—who, frankly, does not care, because she is busy living her best life in permanent VIP status.
What about you? Have you ever found yourself making exceptions for an animal you swore was just livestock? Pull up a chair—let’s talk about the fine line between practicality and inevitable favoritism.
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