Luna and Minerva, two chickens destined to become breasts, thighs, and wings, were rescued from a factory farm. They want us to know what life was like for them and their fellow chickens. While they don’t speak English, we believe that if they could communicate with us, the following is what they would say.

Safe at the sanctuary, looking back on their life.

“Ha, ha, look at you, Luna, sitting in that watermelon rind. You’re getting juice all over you. You’re more pastel pink than your usual pretty white self,” said Minerva.

“Once we were hardly pretty or even close to white—we were filthy. Minerva and I lived in a huge building of steel, with thousands of us running around trying to get food on a floor that was urine soaked and covered in feces.”

“I heard we were called free-range chickens. There was nothing free about where we lived. Nary a range in sight. It was dark and dank and stunk,” said Minerva.

“The smell got to me, burned my eyes and hurt my lungs. Painful to breathe. My skin was burned and raw in places,” added Luna.

“I saw so many of my friends die or suffer with all sorts of trauma. Luna and I walked amongst our fellow chickens, the dead and dying, with feathers everywhere and sadly their body parts, too.

“I could barely stand; I’d become huge and yet I was just a few weeks old,” said Luna, “How could I grow this fast? What do these people want with our lives? We need them for ourselves.”

The rescue

“Wait, what’s happening? Why am I being picked up? I’m scared. Oh, these are gentle hands—not like the other people. These people are cooing to us and speaking softly—no gruff talk from them.”

“Minerva, where are we going? Others have left here and we’ve never seen them again. We’re being put into a carrier. At least we’re together but this is scary. I’m afraid.”

“Wait, we’ve stopped. Hush. We need to be quiet if we can. The door just opened. Oh, my, I see green, I see yellow. I see a place I’ve never seen before. Grass? Sunshine? Fresh air? Could it be? Where are we, Luna?”

“I can breathe again,” Luna cried. “My eyes are clear and I can see.”

“My feet feel happy. I can walk on the earth. I can dust bathe,” added Minerva.

“Is this heaven; are we dead, Minerva? Did we get killed like our brothers and sisters?”

“No, I think we got saved. Fine people found us and rescued us. Hope there are more fine people to rescue our relatives.”

The human-animal connection is broken

“I once tried to talk to the people who came to check on us. Why are you treating us this way? We’re living beings. But they never responded.”

“I think they hated their jobs, Luna. They were always cold and detached.”

“How could anyone be happy in a place like that?” asked Luna. “The smell is overwhelming and there are the dead, dying, and rotted bodies of our brothers and sisters. I wanted them to see what they’re doing to us—not just our physical selves but also our souls, our spirits. They either never saw or didn’t want to see.”

“Don’t humans know we have feelings, Minerva, that we mourn when our friends die? Don’t they know we need sun and fresh air, clean water and food to be healthy and vibrant? Don’t they know we want to live?”

“Maybe some do and they don’t care. Heck, they don’t even call us chickens. They call us broilers or fryers or roasters. It’s all about them and how they’re going to use our bodies and not a bit about us and our lives,” said Luna.

“Then we have to teach them, Luna. We have to share our stories and the stories of our friends so humans do know, then maybe more will care.”

“Minerva and I came from a horrible place, called a factory farm that was labeled "free-range," and run by people who just don’t respect that we are living, breathing, sentient beings. We were born and raised in filth. We never knew our mother. We don’t even know if we’re true sisters. Until we were rescued, we never knew what it was like to be free.”

“Luna and I enjoyed our time living at the sanctuary. We were safe and surrounded by people who cared. We met other rescued animals who shared their stories with us. But we had bodies that were just too huge for our hearts and bones to support. We’d been bred to gain weight quickly no matter what we ate. Our brothers and sisters were slaughtered at just 6 weeks old. We were two of the lucky ones, but sadly the damage had already been done. We tried losing weight, but our bodies were not designed to.”

Lives too short

“Where is Minerva? I’ve been looking for her. MINERVA!” cries Luna. “There’s still more watermelon to eat, Minerva. Please wake up, please.”

“My heart feels heavy. I am in pain with every step. I miss my friend. I’m not sure
I can go on much longer even though these lovely, kind, and gentle people want only the best for me. I think it’s time.”
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Minerva passed away at 7 months in November 2017 and Luna at 9 months in January 2018. Chickens who aren’t bred to become body parts can live 8 to 20 years.

Broiler chickens, like Minerva and Luna, are selectively bred and fed an unnatural diet causing them to gain weight quickly so that they grow unnaturally large legs and breasts to be slaughtered at just 6 weeks old. This rapid weight gain puts a huge strain on their young and not fully developed joints, lungs, and hearts, putting them at risk for heart failure. They often can’t move much nearing the week 5 mark and a significant amount die suddenly before reaching the slaughterhouse.

Minerva and Luna most likely passed away from heart problems as they both passed away in their sleep.

Over 1.35 billion chicken wings were consumed during this year's Super Bowl Sunday. That translates into the deaths of over half a million chickens for one three to four hour game. We humans need to care more.

On Jan. 31, 2018, a total lunar eclipse occurred with a blue moon, known as a Super Blue Blood Moon. Rest in Peace, Luna.

Minerva was the Roman goddess of wisdom and war. One hopes that the war being waged on farmed animals comes to an end soon and that Minerva’s wisdom will prevail.