Bobsled is the one sport where those suits look really bad. It's funny how what makes an Olympic athlete varies so much by sport.

Kind of related: [link]

Crafty Ann Duran, 55, took pity on hens left featherless after being rescued from a battery farm.

And she came up with eggs-actly the right answer to keep them warm - hand-knitted tanktops.

Chickens lose their feathers after being cooped up in hot sheds at battery farms.

Davis and White's exhibition music: the hell?

Usually we'd sell all our bull (male) calves shortly after they were born, but occasionally we'd let one grow to near-maturity, and then have it slaughtered. Then we'd have a big freezer full of steak and hamburger.

I read an article about a farm family where they would name the animals after food items to remind the kids what would happen. It's hard to get attached to a pig named Bacon.

I'm glad it sounds like a typical developmental stage. We're pretty open about explaining things as truthfully as we can. The steer we bought last year was named Rupert so we tend to rave about how delicious he is when we cook steaks.

Owen remains a little sensitive about the thought of people dying, which I try to work through with him. I want to think that we'll always be there for him but I just explain that we won't die for a loooooong time.

I just have to watch about using idioms like "you're killing me" or "I'm dying over here."

I'd actually feel more comfortable with eating an animal that I killed than one I bought already cleaned up at a supermarket. If I'm going to be sacrificing a living creature for my food, the least I can do is confront the reality of that, rather than letting someone else handle all of the messy stuff. (I still wouldn't, except in an emergency, but I'd feel better about it if I killed it myself. As long as someone told me how to do it so that I wouldn't just add to the animal's suffering by not knowing how to handle a knife.)

When Christopher was five, his great grandmother took him out to collect eggs from their hen house. A chicken pecked him and they had chicken for dinner that night.

More importantly, she informs me that if I sleep with someone, and he is not my true love, I am Doomed Forever. Becuase I am Ruined, and have Given Away All My Goods.

All of them? Damn, you got busay!

Apparently, milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.

I just have to watch about using idioms like "you're killing me" or "I'm dying over here."

I have noticed this too. I guess I shouldn't expect them to know the difference. Ellie is mostly curious I think. Our fish dying didn't phase her at all. I try telling her that Grandma's mom is still alive so I should be here for a long time.

Meryl Davis is weird looking, like an alien. A very very pretty alien. We should put her on that Pretenatural Beauty list.

I'm kind of digging the music. Makes me want to hear a funky version of a country song.

My grandparents had neighbors who had always had a pig in the old country. They'd feed it scraps to fatten it and then it would go in the ice box. They finally decided to do it in the new country.

My cousins and I would feed it and play with it through the fence. We were told what was going to happen. Eventually, "Oinkey" was slaugtered. My grandfather was given some and I didn't want to eat it.

Turns out the neighbors didn't want to either. When they went to pick up the meat they asked the butcher to switch it for another pig. It was the last time they raised a pig.