Eating an Animal by J.C.

My daughter is nearly two years old. Our conversations are littered with vast and deflating misunderstandings, as well as with painfully beautiful moments of concurrence in linguistic contingency. It is routinely an ecstatic experience; at least for me it is ecstatic, for her, I can't be certain. 

"What did you eat when you were at the farm today Honey? 

"..."

"When you were at the cafe, at the farm, with the animals, what did you eat?"

"...Eat. Animals!"

"..."

There is an oft repeated tale from my youth that culminates in my father - a career scientist and leisurely atheist - taking a solemn vow of abstinence from red meat. I'll regale you with it now, if that's ok;

We were driving along somewhere, one day in rural hertfordshire, when we drove past a field of spring lambs. 

"Why are those sheep in the field Dad?"

"..."

And he never ate red meat, willingly, ever again, to this day.