First, let me make it clear that I’m not one of the first. I am well aware that my breakfast soft boiled would have grown into a cute little chick and that my sunday roast chook was once precisely that. I know full well that the clinically presented prepackaged chops in my supermarket was once a woolly little baa lamb cavorting in a sunny spring meadow, and I’m quite happy to eat fishey wisheys with their eyes and heads on. I don’t have a problem with shooting, fishing, gutting or filleting, it’s a fact of life whether I’m doing it or somebody else is doing it to save me the trouble.
Now (as I imagine they say in the film industry) Cut to……
The Hollywood version of an English Baronial manor. The year 1348. His baronial highness is seated on a highly ornate and gilded throne while scores of scantily clad females dance in the great hall before him. Jugglers and fire eaters bring up the rear. Enter stage left, a peasant who is gasping for breath and has obviously been running . He throws himself to the floor at the bottom of the staircase leading up to the throne
Peasant “My lord, there is a case of buboes in the village”
His baronialness takes a long look into the middle distance while scratching his chin.
HB “Hie ye forth and find Sir Swarseneggar. Tell him to go to the village and kill two thirds of the population with his semi-automatic crossbow”
Peasant “Aye my lord. Shall he destroy all the ones with the buboes?”
HB “It matters not. Any two thirds will do”
I’m not sure it would have prevented the death of millions during the plague and I’m not sure it’ll have any effect on the spread of bovine TB in the UK either.