Chinese chickens

The Chinese are very honest people in general.
Today I ate a chicken. Not some chicken, but a chicken.
When your Chinese friend drops off a chicken for you as a gift, you know what you are eating.
today as I ate this delicious animal. the head and feet were all in their proper locations. I was so impressed by the depth that was given to my lunch. this ritual of eating.
as i was eating, I knew what i was eating, because the head was connected and the beak opened as if its last moments were not a gentle passing but a kicking, screaming and a holding on to life.e
the claws looked as a humans may at a morgue after the washing a few days after death: slimy and smelly. perhaps like a fetus. i felt like Hannibal Lectur a bit. As if i went out and captured some person and brought them to my hidden basement to kill them cook them and eat the body.
I appreciate this honesty. I want to know what I am eating. I am not against eating chickens.
But now when I buy a chicken I will try to buy it with its full body. it just seems proper and enriching to the ritual.
In America when you buy a chicken from most restaurants, you would be shocked to see the head and feet still where they should be.
I accidentaly broke its neck when i picked it up looking for more meat. this snapping made me want to say sorry. although it was dead, i felt i was doing more harm by breaking its neck and tearing off the meat.
Now it lies on my table in broken bones and a full head and fingers. it appears to have met a horrible fate.
I am tempted to bury it in the yard.