About five years ago, (when I still ate eggs, by the way) I had the dubious privilege of touring a local egg farm that used battery cages to house its laying hens.
The way I came to be allowed inside was a real matter of serendipity; I was the co-leader of a Brownie troop along with an absolute bulldog of a woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She basically bulldozed the farmer into letting us bring the kids for a tour. I could tell right from the get-go that he was less than happy about it, and even less happy when she pressured him (in front of the kids) to let us into the actual barn.

