As I noted last week, this is the time of year that we've trained for since the failure of our New Year's resolution to lose 10 (or 20) pounds: the serious competitive-eating season.

We're going for volume, and we're not picky about how we get it: mashed potatoes, cookies, babka, all washed down with eggnog until there's almost no room for the inevitable self-loathing and urge to fast. Right after the hot buffet and champagne.

Before I lapsed into a food coma on Thanksgiving, I found myself considering an often overlooked issue.

The sex life of poultry.

Oh sure, you may not consider that a topic worthy of your consideration, but where do you think turkeys and chickens come from? Well, eggs, obviously, but eggs don't grow on trees, or even on eggplants.

To make more chickens and turkeys, eggs must be fertilized, and this is more complicated and perilous than you'd imagine. Not that you spend a lot of time imagining that sort of thing.

Turkeys, for example, have to be artificially inseminated. They can't mate because their breasts are too big. This is one of many ways turkeys are different from human beings.

Over the decades, we have bred our turkeys to have huge breasts because everyone wants white meat. We have been so successful at this that American turkeys, like Barbie, have disproportionately large front ends. In the turkeys' case, this becomes a handicap that physically prevents them from mating. In Barbie's case, it gets her a boyfriend with plastic hair.

The situation with chickens is even more disturbing. I was unaware of how abusive roosters are until a helpful reader pointed me to a site called HenSaver.com, which sells aprons, also called saddles, for chickens.

I found this baffling at first. I have never ridden a chicken, and they're not known for their cooking -- though I still don't understand what chicken-fried steak is if it isn't steak fried by a chicken.

It turns out that roosters, despite Mel Gibson's charismatic leading bird in "Chicken Run," are not the most considerate of lovers. During mating, hens often suffer feather loss and cuts on their backs. This can lead to infections and other unfortunate consequences for the hen, so it's best to put some kind of protective body armor on her before a date.

The apron or saddle, which looks like one of those dog sweaters that proves dogs are colorblind, "must meet the needs of the chicken," according to the Web site. Beyond a proper fit, it's hard to imagine what those needs might be. Does it have to be fashionable? Or just not make her tail look big?

You'd expect the saddle to "prevent further damage to your chicken," but it also "inhibits the ability of hawks to grasp your chickens." That's huge. Think how much easier it would have been for Foghorn Leghorn to discourage that annoying, bloodthirsty little chicken hawk if he'd ponied up for some protection.

"Ah say, lissen here, boy, Ah'm wearing this apron -- look at me when Ah talk to ya, son -- Ah say Ah'm in drag here, y'see, so jus' go on home now an' bother someone else."

Not that the aprons aren't fetching. They come in several colors, including a camouflage pattern for chickens deployed to combat zones. They are held on by elastic straps, and this is one of the reasons the apron needs to be the right size; according to the FAQs, when you put it on, you have to "Be sure to keep a finger between the straps and the hen's throat while you pull the straps over the wings so as not to inadvertently choke the chicken."

The manufacturers welcome special orders, including "holiday, personalized" and even "sports editions." Just think -- a whole coop full of Hen Roethlisbergers and Troy Poultrymalus.

The chicks would go crazy.

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