Do you know what makes the nice, white veal one gets in big cities?
The calves are bled to death.

They linger for hours, and moan their lives away.

The first time I heard it, I was so angry that I cried for a day, and made John promise that he'd never send another animal of his to a big city to be killed.

That's why all of our stock goes to Hoytville, and small country places.

Oh, those big cities are awful places, Laura.