With an ever increasing frequency, I imagine what I would do if I had to kill an animal to eat it. The answer is always that I would become a vegetarian (assuming I didn’t starve — I may be the worst gardener in the world, as well). And then I forget my lapse of consciousness and blindly eat whatever we’ve cooked.
The absolute worst example of this awareness is when my family went to a fast food drive thru that specializes in Mexican grilled chicken, called Pollo Campero. We got this giant bucket of wings (actually half wings because they cut the piece in two) and had horrible visions of an entire ranch full of chickens walking around without their wings, to which we responded with all the dark jokes my son and I make to break up the tragic nature of any event.