Depending on your attitude our family has either an evolved or creepy relationship to the meat we eat.

Local food was easy to find in Vermont, particularly with the growth of Bread and Butter Farm mere blocks from our house. In the early days of Bread and Butter when Adam just had one milk cow we would drive a half an hour to Essex. I would return with glass jars filled with the raw milk that didn’t require me to pop lactaid and (theoretically) gave my boys the benefit of all the vegetables they wouldn’t eat in one creamy cup.

Then Marilyn dried up.

So we ate her.

We would chew through her not so tender meat and thank her by name as we sat around the dinner table. It was the closest we came to a blessing.

Guests found it creepy.

I figured if we are going to eat meat we should know the animals as well as we could, ensure that they had comfortable and healthy lives, and introduce our boys to the true impact of being an omnivore.

In Colorado we don’t yet know our animals by name. However we keep it local. Our garage freezer is full of succulent piglet that a friend sourced for us from a farm so small it doesn’t have a name. We pick up our full kitchen farm share on Tuesdays which include pantry items, welcome and confusing vegetables, Noosa yogurt, eggs, herbs and meat.

Which is the point of this post.

Llast night we ate llama.

And despite my lyrical remembrance of Marilyn I have a completely illogical response to our dinner.

I eat cow and pig and sheep and chicken. Regularly. It is pretty llikely that the llama had a good life before he ended up on my plate. The llama farms I know are almost the definition of free range.

Steve added fresh herbs and manchego into the llama llumps. I gritted my teeth and ate it.

It was delicious, and I hated every bit.

I remembered the llama that guarded the sheep at Shelburne Farms. How if you got close to Freckles’ charges she would spit at you. My boys would try to get close enough to gain her attention without receiving a llama shower.

Why do I happily eat the lamb and have to force down their guardians?

I have no llogic about the llama.

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Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble,, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at

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