writer Michael Specter, on his first visit to a chicken
"I was almost knocked to the ground by
the overpowering smell of feces and ammonia. My eyes
burned and so did my lungs, and I could neither see
nor breathe….There must have been thirty thousand
chickens sitting silently on the floor in front of
me. They didn’t move, didn’t cluck. They were almost
like statues of chickens, living in nearly total darkness,
and they would spend every minute of their six-week
lives that way."
—Michael Specter, New Yorker,
April 14, 2003.