//metrognome logo//

"I want to eat that one, Daddy!"

These may not be the words that every father dreams of hearing from his 2-year-old daughter
 as she points to a live animal - but on the eve of Thanksgiving, they were definitely a
 step in the right direction as far as I was concerned.

See, it's not so easy raising a carnivore nowadays. First, there are all those anti-meat
 messages out there - read "Fast Food Nation," for example, and you'll never eat a burger
 again. And with a closet full of cute little animal plush toys, I worried that my daughter
 would never develop her father's taste for blood (and sinew, muscle, fat and chestnut
 stuffing).

So I didn't know what to expect when I brought her to Hemlock Hill Farm in upstate Cortlandt
 Manor to pick out a live turkey and have it drawn and quartered for our holiday meal.

"Remember, sweetie," I told my daughter on the hour-long ride, "we're going to make friends
 with a turkey and then we're going to eat it."

Perhaps child psychology experts (and laymen like my wife) would object at my approach to
 teaching my daughter the way of the meat-eating world. But the reason we drove to the farm
 - besides the mouth-watering treat of a fresh-killed turkey -- was to show her that not
 every animal is a cuddly pet.

Teaching her that we eat turkeys didn't turn out to be that difficult. Not to sound
 specie-ist, but turkeys are ugly, with their pale pink necks, horn-like knobs between their
 eyes, ostrich-like heads and pre-historic gait. And they all look alike, so it's difficult
 - even for a 2-year-old - to get attached to any one bird.

But still, I worried that my daughter would be drawn to their feathers, not their flavor.

"So, sweetheart, which one should we eat?" I asked her. She looked over the flock slowly
 before pointing to a particularly aggressive bird that stared her down meanly: "I want to
 eat that one!"

For the record, I didn't bring my daughter into the slaughterhouse, where our bird was
 electro-shocked, killed, relieved of its blood, tossed into scalding hot water, spun in a
 de-feathering machine, gutted and cleaned.

But I did let her help carry the dead bird out to the car and assist me when I cooked it
 later.

And she didn't need any prompting after she finished her plate: "I want more turkey, Daddy!"

I was so proud that I didn't even make her say the magic word.

--30--