Adaptive traits in chickens

Tonight I roasted a chicken. They were on sale, easy to do. And I needed to do it soon, lest it turn on me.

It setting aside the giblets, I discovered that my chicken had not one, but four hearts.

I found this odd. I guess a fist full of innards is thrust into each carcass after processing and before being packaged. Which conjures images of the giblet bin in the chicken plant. And the guy who hoses it down. But explains the unnatural allotment of parts I had the fortune of sauteing in butter and eating.

I suppose I'm ready for Fear Factor.