Dear Cow,

I'm thinking of you as you spend your last night, probably snuggled into your straw-lined pen, snoozing away, oblivious. I'm so thankful that have no idea what tomorrow will bring. My friend reminded me this evening that you have had a nice life, a full life with plenty of grazing on the best that midwestern grass can possibly offer. You've had plenty of exercise, and probably a good friend or two. Your life has been infinitely more pleasant than those of your counterparts who spend their days in the misery of factory farms.

However, I am sad. I don't know why. Blame hormones, lack of sunshine, or some other third party interference, but I'm grieving a little bit for the upcoming end of your life. I'm sure it will be quick and painless and you'll never know what happened.

Our freezer supply was dwindling, so I called our local slaughterhouse (I hate that title) to get in line for a quarter of beef. It just so happened that someone cancelled their order, and our request will be ready this weekend.

For your sake, I'm feeling tempted to force our household into a vegetarian state. But, what good would it do, really? Your fate involves consumption.

Well, Mr. Cow, sleep well. The food chain must continue. We'll think of you with gratitude with each juicy hamburger.