Pity the poor ostrich. Condemned so long to stroll the endless African savanna, to listen to the swaying grasses, to strut beside the mighty acacia. Their awkward forms exquisitely adept at speed and caution, they outran lions. And, from their spot in the web of life, they knew death as well. Quick, often, but sometimes, yes, drawn out. Yet they were ever cursed with freedom, the freedom to run, to sprint, to live, to die. Not even an ostrich deserves such a woeful thing as freedom. Their distant cousins—the chickens and turkeys—had long since been blessed with confinement and subjugation. (Truly, every animal's deepest wish!) But for the ostriches, it was only the trap of nature and those dreaded vast and open skies.
No more! At the O.K. Corral, the ostriches have their pens at last, and how happy they are! No longer condemned to their drab feathers, they now enjoy bowties and eyepatches (?), just like the finest gentlemen.
And, of course, along with the outfit comes the opportunity to be butchered and turned into a "100% Real," "Real Western" snack food. No wonder this ostrich looks so pleased, so smug. He's about to receive the highest honor available to a flightless bird (or any animal, for that matter): death, processing, and encasement in plastic, there to have his Nutrition Facts made plain for all to see and celebrate.