Last week we ran in Food & Flavor local writer and foodie Virginia Phillips remarkable piece headlined "Chicken Killing Day" and invited readers to send us their feedback. They weren't shy. I took two phone calls from readers who thought the piece should not have ran where it did.

"What in God's name possessed you to run this article in the food section???" e-mailed Diane Markosky of West Newton, Westmoreland County. "I think it was totally inappropriate. T.M.I."

But the feedback was mostly positive. Here are the responses.

-- Bob Batz Jr.

I became nauseated

[The Food & Flavor] section is a favorite that usually is informative and helpful. But instead, on the cover page, readers were greeted by a shocking headline titled "Chicken Killing Day" boldly displayed with dire graphics in a ?? page layout that continued onto page 4 . . I found the article disturbing .

In fact, I became nauseated with the few paragraphs I read and did not continue reading about her repulsive, asinine day. I quit reading the rest of the paper. Everyone is quite aware that reading or even scanning through Sections A through D its mostly dismal news regarding Iraq, the neighborhood killings, beatings, abuse, drugs, etc. . Is there a further need to read more distressing news concerning some ninny writing about her doing the killing?

M. CHIODO
Baldwin Borough

What dilemma?

Will someone save us from (sort-of) liberal New Agers with (sort-of) consciences? As a vegetarian, I knew I was in trouble as soon as I saw the title, "The Omnivore's Dilemma," the book that occasioned Virginia Phillips' "Chicken Killing Day." Sure enough, almost every carnivorous (oops! omnivorous) acquaintance I have came at me with that chapter about the author, Michael Pollan, grabbing that gun and going after that boar. Now we have Ms. Phillips and the chickens, courtesy of Mildred's Daughters, whose (vegetable) products I've dutifully bought at the East End Food Co-op. Yes, I'm one of that crowd, too, minus the dilemma. Forget the boar. Forget the chicken. End of dilemma. Eat the excellent and ever-better, always more healthful meat alternatives you can buy along with the vegetables at the Co-op and elsewhere.

REBECCA TAKSEL
Edgewood

Left me feeling woozy

Your "Chicken Killing Day" article made me sick. I don't know the point of the article . I have to admit that I couldn't read it that close.

I don't eat flesh, and haven't for the past 15 years, but the decision of whether to ring its neck or cut the head off with "a sharp knife " might make a meat-eating truck-driver woozy.

I do believe that people need to know what's behind the cellophane wrappers in the supermarkets, and if your article brings that to the fore, that's great.

I'm not suggesting that people shouldn't slaughter animals for food, but in a civilized society, let's make sure the process is as "killing-friendly " as possible.

JEFF KRUZIC
Hunker

I'd rather have fish

Great story!

I never personally killed a chicken, but I used to see it done at Joey's Fish Market up on Frankstown Avenue when I was growing up in Homewood. On Fridays we ate fresh fish for dinner, and in the summer we would walk to this market with my mother to buy the fish. I remember going in and many times we would be there when the son would be preparing a chicken for a customer. I do remember that he seemed to put the chicken's head in some type of metal funnel-type object and then he would chop it off. I always hated the sound of that and thought that I would never eat chicken again. We would be happy to eat fish instead of chicken on that day.

WENDY BETTS
Winter Springs, Fla.

Spiritual connection to food

I read "Chicken Killing Day" with interest this morning. I spent several years living on and working a small five-acre plot of land in southwestern Colorado with my husband about 20 years ago. We raised chickens for eggs and meat. This article brought back memories including the sights and smells of chicken killing day, not to mention remembering the feel of the chicken in my hands.

I would bet that you are getting many negative comments about publishing this article in the food section where many people expect yummy recipes, but I believe that a connection to our food is very important and really very spiritual. I miss those days when I had a direct contact with my food and although I still garden and try to be aware of how I eat it is hardly the same.

I applaud you for taking this on, learning how to do this task and then writing about it. I never could eat our chicken for about a month after killing day. It was smart of [the writer's] host to serve beef!

I work at Silver Eye Center for Photography and this article was also very interesting to me because we will be having a fall exhibition of photographs by Diana Shearwood titled: "What's for Dinner?" It will tackle the subject of food miles with programming that will attempt to examine the farm-to-table concept.

SYLVIA EHLER
Mt. Lebanon

I couldn't finish it

I was truly appalled and horrified when I saw this seemingly lighthearted tale about such disturbing subject matter. I couldn't even finish reading it, but forced myself to scan the rest, believing it was a joke. I'm not even a vegetarian, but didn't need to be reminded, in such graphic detail, about why I frequently consider becoming one.I was literally sick to my stomach after reading about the animals' attempts to escape before being butchered, and couldn't get the image out of my head all day.

My mother actually called me to express her dismay over the article, and my husband couldn't even bring himself to read it. I have to seriously question what type of person would willingly seek out and share the details of this horrific "task," as well as your judgment in printing such an abhorrent story about it.

LORI MURAWSKI
South Fayette

Killing was no big deal

Your chicken killing article brought vividly to mind my experience as an apprentice meat cutter at a neighborhood meat market on the North Side. We got our supply of chickens from Derda Brothers Poultry, a store just above the 16th Street Bridge on Chestnut Street. Derda Brothers had a stock of live chickens, ducks and rabbits as well as the seasonal turkeys. (Killing turkeys was a strenuous operation. Those were tough birds)

They dispatched the chickens with a sharp knife and tossed the carcass into a box. The box was supplied with hot water and contained a large rotating wheel with rubber fingers which would strip the feathers.

Although the Derdas would also clean the birds, we would save a few cents by getting the chickens "hog dressed" -- that is, killed and de-feathered -- and eviscerate them in the shop much as described in your article. In some cases, we would get the chickens still alive; this was even cheaper. In those cases, the chickens were efficiently killed by simply tucking the chicken under an arm, with the chicken's head down. The neck was stretched and the chicken died quickly with no further fuss. After that, the head was removed and the bird bled out.

I can recall no emotion associated with this process; it was a commercial practice, after all, but I don't know, in retrospect, what this says about us. It seems that we considered this activity little more than picking a tomato from a vine.

JOE BOSCO
New Kensington

A balanced, moving story

I have been a vegetarian since I was about 5 years old, when I first learned where meat came from. I just wasn't able to make a distinction between why it was considered acceptable to eat a cow or pig, but not the family dog or cat. Over the years, as I've learned more about the horrific methods by which many "industrial animals" are slaughtered, I have only grown to feel more strongly about my decision.

Nearly all of my loved ones are meat eaters; I appreciate their right to have their own beliefs, and try not to be preachy about my vegetarianism. But I have always felt that many people would choose to give up meat if they learned more about the methods by which their food is being killed, or witnessed the killing personally.

I still don't agree with the need to kill chickens or any other animal for food, especially as there are so many other protein options available today (as a kid 30 years ago, I pretty much subsisted on peanut butter). But I do respect the folks at So'Journey Farm for caring to treat the animals as respectfully and humanely as possible, and Ms. Phillips for her decision to participate in "chicken killing day" and to write what I felt was a balanced and moving story about the experience.

ANGELA CARDUCCI
Whitehall

Story took me way back

Just wanted to say I enjoyed reading your article on chicken killing day. I chuckled quite a bit because it brought back memories for me of my childhood.

I lived in Verona and my parents raised chickens. We had a coop in the back of our house where we could always go to get fresh eggs. I was only about 7 or 8 years old and I remember specifically that Saturday was "chicken killing day." My father did the wringing of the neck, never chopped off, then my two sisters, myself and mother would wait in the basement where a large pot of boiling water was ready. Mother would dip the chicken in the hot water and our job was to pluck all the feathers. Then mother would do the dissecting and clean out, wash them up and make them ready for delivery.

My sisters and I had to deliver the fresh chickens to folks in Verona who had ordered them. We didn't mind that part because we sometimes would get a few pennies tip and stop for candy on our way home.

Of course, we always had chicken for Sunday dinner.

I don't think I could kill a chicken today!

JO DONATELLI
Regent Square

What's for Sunday dinner?

As a child I had the exciting (being a small boy) experience of seeing many a chicken dispatched. My parents being descended from a long line of farmers, we had a chicken coop with a fenced in grazing area in our back yard. Many a time, my mother would announce that we were going to have chicken for dinner on Sunday, which was my father's clue to go to the yard and select a victim. He would pick up his hatchet, grab his selection by the feet and unceremoniously flop it down on the ground, its head resting against a log. With a lightening blow of the hatchet the chicken's head was separated from its body and the killing was complete -- unless, of course, some force still unknown to me allowed the body of the chicken to rise to its feet and run off some distance before collapsing in death. (There's a wonderfully humorous story about this by Garrison Keillor, narrated on one of his Prairie Home Companion monologues, called, I believe, "Chicken Killing," telling how the headless chicken carried his killers on a merry chase).

After our chicken was killed, it was hung up so that its blood could drip away from the ugly wound, then it was thrust into a bucket of boiling water. Then it was my job to pull out the feathers, quite a smelly and rather disgusting task!

I can remember desiring the drumstick, but somehow the memories got to me as I got older and I would not eat chicken for many years.

Eventually I became a minister and was invited to Sunday dinner on many occasions to have, what else, chicken. It was in this capacity I learned to eat it and enjoy it again.

WILLIAM EDSALL
Reserve

I could kill, but ...

When I was little, I remember going into the countryside with my parents to buy chickens. Their heads were cut off, and they were hung up by their feet to flap and drain. This worried me, but my mother explained that they no longer felt pain. They were then dunked in boiling water to remove the large feathers, and we removed the small feathers and pin feathers at home.

If necessary, yes, I could kill a chicken for food, but I wouldn't like it.

As I am now 74, this was back in the late 1930 s and early '40 s.

MARJORIE WELLS
Midlothian, Va.

It's the cycle of life

Thank you, Virginia Phillips, for your article . I enjoyed the narrative of your recent trip to Greene County to kill chickens with friends -- an extraordinary journey, indeed. I grew up on a family farm in northeast Missouri where the annual cycle of obtaining chicks, feeding to fryer size, killing, dressing and eating the fledgling roosters was as much an integral part of the yearly cycle of life as spring, summer, winter, fall and celebrating Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. It was my Mother's task to do the killing, scalding, and gutting; my sister and I were only recruited for the cutting into wings, legs, thighs, breasts, wishbone and two backs, and of course the cleaning of the giblets. Mom's never fail method was not as mindful as yours; she grabbed the chicken, put its head under a sturdy stick, stood on both ends, and with a strong, clean jerk pulled its head off. One fine summer day when my older sister had almost attained adolescence, it was decided that she was now old enough, with the help of myself and our younger brother, to capture and dispatch Sunday dinner. We children and Mom were so confident of our abilities that she didn't even accompany us to the chicken yard. All went well until it became obvious that my sister's " jerk" was not strong enough as the head remained attached and the poor beast "ran around like a chicken with its head cut off " -- but not. My brother dashed to the house for his BB gun (you know, the Red Ryder model featured in "A Christmas Story") to finish the job. Thus Mom became aware of our dilemma/botched attempt, came out, recaptured the wounded bird, and finished the job.

We were never again invited to kill, and remained relegated to the plucking/cutting chores until we left home -- my sister to college and then to her husband's farm where she still raises chickens, sells eggs, and enjoys really fresh chicken; my brother to the house close by built and previously occupied by one of our great uncles (his chicken house was never used as my sister-in-law isn't the chicken killing kind); and myself to college and finally a home in Forest Hills where chickens would not be permitted.

There is hope that I too could still (re)learn to kill chickens -- my husband and I have land in Greene County, with a garden that would benefit from a few chickens to protect it from varmits and to put some much- needed nutrients into the rocky soil.

I applaud the recent upsurge of interest in local/organic food -- plant and animal. I know many vegetarians, and a few vegans but I often feel the most responsible "eaters" are those who continue to balance their diets with vegetables and meats grown and harvested/killed with the respect expressed in your story. Thank you for sharing your experience and reminding us of our place in and responsibility for the web of life.

BECKY STUDER
Forest Hills

Things were different then

When I was a kid growing up in Virginia (in the 1930 s) my aunt and uncle had a big dairy farm and also raised chickens. They always had chicken for Sunday dinner and they would take the chicken to the chopping block (an old tree stump) and cut off it s head with an axe. The chicken then ran around for a few minutes with out it s head until it dropped over. They then scalded the chicken in boiling water to remove the feathers. After that it was many years before I could eat chicken. They also bled the chicken, brined it (soaked it in salt water for hours) and there was never that buildup of blood you get in you chicken today

BARBARA MILLIRON SINWELL
New Kensington

Things were different indeed

Grandma said: "Joey, it's time to kill that red hen for soup. Don't forget to take the dish to catch the blood."

I was 11 years old!

JOSEPH A. PRASCAK
Dormont

I can put my finger on it

On the first knuckle of my index finger on my left hand is a tiny crescent-shaped scar. It has faded in the past 30 years but nonetheless it remains a subtle reminder of my childhood and the unpleasant job of butchering chickens.

When I was about 11 years old our family moved from 10 acres to a ranch of 750 acres. Of the half dozen outbuildings, one was a little shed used to "hatch" fowl. My mother couldn't resist the idea and ordered 100 chicks through the mail. They came, just hatched and about two inches in diameter. Unfortunately, buying chickens in a prehatched state doesn't give you much choice in gender. Six months later we had 40 some adolescent male chickens. Like all male adolescents they thought of two things: fighting and finding a hen. It was time for them to find a better purpose.

In one single day my mother, myself and my sister killed, plucked, gutted, cut up and put in the freezer 34 roosters. Our technique was to put their heads between two nails on a board, and stretch the neck a bit before a quick blow of a hatchet severed the head, then they were let go to flop around and bleed out. Grisly but effective. Much later in life, in a different story, I learned to wring a chicken's neck, which has its pros and cons.

Once beheaded, the plunge into boiling water, stripping feathers and removing the innards was much as described. We had the added step of holding the birds over a candle to singe off any remaining feather bits. After they were gutted, we then cut them up and assembled packages for the freezer. It was in the cutting up process that I earned my reminder. My mother cut her hand on about the 14th rooster, I took over until about the 30th rooster and when I cut my finger, and my sister had to step in to finish.

It was months before we could eat chicken, weeks before the smell of boiling water didn't make me sick and a lifetime still hasn't made me forget that day. We butchered chickens on other occasions after that but only in small batches of one or two, up to six at a time.

I'm not sure I have the stomach to butcher anything now and I certainly (blessedly) have forgot some of the details such as the first cut to pull out the guts. I agree we have become disconnected from where our food comes from but frankly, I'm OK with that. If want to remember, I just look at my left hand.

AUDREY WALDOCK
Edgewood

To clarify blood spots

I thoroughly enjoyed Virginia Phillips' article "Chicken Killing Day." I have raised chickens, both hens and roosters, for quite a while now and I sell their eggs, along with baked goods, at the Ligonier Country Market.

I feel compelled to correct Ms. Phillips, however, on one grossly incorrect point that she stated in the article concerning blood spots and fertilized eggs. Blood spots are NOT chick embryos and they're not caused by over-zealous roosters! A blood spot is just that -- sometimes when a yolk is released from the hen's oviduct, a small hemorrhage occu rs and the blood from that hemorrhage attaches itself to the yolk. This can happen in any egg, regardless of whether it has been fertilized or not. Some hen's are more pre-disposed to the condition and sometimes it can happen if the hen is stressed or otherwise out-of-sorts. The blood spot is completely harmless and the egg is still edible, if not visually appealing. I always tell my customers to just remove the spot with the tip of a spoon if they find one in an egg.

M.J. WELSH
Bell Township, Westmoreland County

Surgical precision

The article on "Chicken Killing" brought back a lot of memories for me. My father opted for buying a farm for his leisure time in the then-rural area of Oakdale for relaxation from his medical practice. He raised cows, cut hay, grew corn, and raised chickens and we killed them as well. My dad gave his decapitating and cleaning all the hygiene, sanitation and cleanliness that he required in the operating room of Ohio Valley Hospital . His method was surgical if you could call it that. He used an ax and the stump of an old tree that had two nails in it to stretch the neck and help to do the deed. My mom, two brothers and myself would then meet up with him and the victim in the basement of the farm house. There was plenty of scalding water to get all the "pin feathers" and for removing the golden skin from the feet that I remember just peeling back! Opening the gizzard with all the feed in it was kind of like the highlight and the smell of the entire experience it -- I remember it to this very day!

HILARY ZUBRITZKY
McKees Rocks

Make humane food choices

Virginia Phillips may have had good intentions to feel more connected to her food, but instead of taking a class to learn how to kill and disembowel a chicken, she could have used the time to find out about humane food options, such as vegetarian chicken strips, meatless buffalo wings and meatless chicken patties and nuggets. .

Once people understand that animals have interests and feelings that must be protected, it is one small step to realizing that there is no good reason to eat them at all. Animals value their lives just as we value ours. In their natural surroundings, chickens spend their day foraging for food, making nests, roosting in trees, and taking sun and dust baths. A mother hen will turn her eggs as many as five times an hour and cluck to her unborn chicks, who will chirp back to her and to one another. Like us, chickens form strong family ties and mourn when they lose a loved one.

There is no need for anyone to take macabre chicken-killing classes. Vegetarian alternatives are abundant, delicious, healthy, and humane.

HEATHER MOORE
Senior writer, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA), Norfolk, Va.

Do chickens have souls?

I grew up on a dairy farm halfway between Madison and Milwaukee, Wisc . I thought I was the luckiest kid in the world because I lived on a farm with my seven brothers and sisters. I remember waking up in the morning to the sound of the rooster crowing and the calves bawling and my mother singing in the kitchen as she prepared breakfast. We ran wild and free all day in the summer, our feet bare and our knees scraped. Our farm was our Kennywood, our Science Museum and so much more. One big event for us kids was when Daddy walked to the hen house with an ax in his hand. It was chicken killing time and this meant entertainment to us. Farm kids know that everything on the farm has a purpose, from the cats in the barn who kill the mice and the dog who herds the cows and every other living thing. The purpose of the hens was to provide eggs and food for the family. We did not wax philosophically about their "soul" or their "feelings" -- this was business after all and farming and raising a family of eight kids is serious business. Daddy did the job quickly and efficiently The hen's body flapped in the dust without her head attached ; sometimes the decapitated hen would actually get up on her feet and try to run ; the head lay in the dirt with its eyes blinking, a great curiosity to us. Then my mother took the hen and plunged it in a bucket of hot scalding water and removed the feathers.

She then took it into the kitchen and "cleaned it." This process was extremely interesting to us kids. My mother explained all the different organs, etc. as she worked. Within an hour, we would all sit down to my mother's fried chicken . The sights, sounds, and taste of that singular event remain to this day as a pleasant memory of our happy days on our beloved farm.

LYNN TAFFEL
Upper St. Clair

I had no trouble eating

When I was a child growing up in Dorseyville in the 1950s, in the spring my father would buy a large box filled with fluffy yellow chicks. They spent the first couple of days in the kitchen where it was warm and made quite a racket with their constant peeping. At the end of summer they were big enough to eat. My dad had a log with two nails to hold the neck in place. He used a hatchet for the beheading. After the boiling water dip, I was allowed to help pluck the feathers. They would stick to me and they tickled. Most of the chickens went into our freezer and I had no trouble enjoying the delicious meals my mother made.

EILEEN BAUER BIRKNER
Mt. Washington

More chicken memories

Your article brought back a lot of memories. I am 78 years old and remember going to Logan Street, Uptown, just before Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I remember picking out a chicken, turkey or duck. They were in wooden cages. A man would take it out, go out in the back of the store. He reappeared with a large package wrapped in white paper. Sometimes it even wiggled. It was very warm and soft to hold. It fascinated me.

TRUDY NESBITT
Neville Island

Stop eating them

I'm actually glad that Virginia Phillips took the time to know where her food came from. Of course, the vast majority of chickens killed and eaten in this country do not die in the way she described. Birds are not covered by the Humane Slaughter Act (an oxymoron if I've ever heard one ; no "slaughter" can be "humane"), and she does mention that chickens are not always unconscious when they are finally killed in industrial situations.

She asks the question, "Is there a better way for the birds to meet their end?" Yes! They don't have to meet their end!

Our society has come so far today that no human needs to eat meat and other animal products to survive. Meat eating is a matter of preference and convenience. In fact, every week it seems that there is some new reason not to eat meat -- mad cow disease, connections with cancers and Alzheimer's, obesity, arsenic in chicken feed, and so on. Most people I've met who have switched to plant-based diets have greatly improved their health (myself included). My life is very comfortable now that no animal has to die for me to live.

The most humane diet has no room for dead animals.

"A man can live and be healthy without killing animals for food; therefore, if he eats meat, he participates in taking animal life merely for the sake of his appetite. And to act so is immoral." -- Leo Tolstoy

"But for the sake of some little mouthful of flesh we deprive a soul of the sun and light, and of that proportion of life and time it had been born into the world to enjoy." -- Plutarch

ANNE E. LYNCH
Swissvale