One afternoon I began to hear loud howls of pain from a yard at the back of my house which I cannot see into. On investigation I discovered that my neighbours were housing a rescued, abused dog there awaiting the RSCPA. After a couple of hours of this nerve shattering noise from which there was no escape, I looked out of my front windows to see the abbattoir truck making its delivery to the butchers shop across the road. On the back of the truck were row after row of wheelie bins crammed full with frozen joints of meat. I just couldn’t make any sense of how those two sets of values are reconciled; for me they never could be…

fox