Ever since a farmyard refugee arrived on our doorstep back in June, already two feet tall with strong, flexible limbs, we’ve made countless trips to the backyard, pail in hand, intent on fattening her up for dinner.
With a sense of anticipation usually held in reserve for boxes of cookbooks or a new Kitchen Aid attachment (rumour has it there’s a new candy panning drum!), I lift open the flaps on the first delivery of the season.
I don’t think of myself as superstitious. At least, I really don’t want to.