I was brought up next to a farm in Dorset, surrounded by animals. I've always found wildlife fascinating. At four years old I'd catch lizards, snakes and frogs, and keep them in tanks lined up at the end of my bed.

There was a lot of roadkill in the lanes around our house while I was growing up. I'd sometimes take the bodies home and study them in the shed. I wanted to know everything about their biology, inside and out. When I was 14, I started to question our attitude to eating animals. Living on a farm, I knew how commercial meat was reared; I'd seen broiler chickens piled on top of each other, rotten, deformed and dying. The animals I found had led free lives and were incredibly fresh – yet I was expected to leave them in the road to rot. When I found a dead rabbit not long afterwards, I decided to cook and eat it.

I waited until my parents were out, then cut the rabbit's back leg meat into slivers, put them in a frying pan with some butter and ate them with a slice of bread. That first meal, eaten in secret, was thrilling. I could taste the fields and woodlands in the meat. I felt as if I had done something wild and natural.

Over the next few years I'd cycle through the Dorset lanes, collecting roadkill to cook and eat in private. I taught myself taxidermy so that the skins didn't go to waste. My parents knew I brought animals back to stuff, and while they thought it a bit odd, they seemed glad that I was so interested in nature. I didn't tell them what I was eating – I was sure they wouldn't approve.

Since leaving home at 18, my occasional habit has become regular practice. I go out searching for roadkill once or twice a week. The early morning is the best – a lot of animals are nocturnal and get hit at night. Rabbits, badgers and pheasants are my most common finds. Rabbit is actually quite bland. Fox is far tastier; there's never any fat on it, and it's subtle, with a lovely texture, firm but soft. It's much more versatile than beef, and has a salty, mineral taste rather like gammon. Frogs and toads taste like chicken and are great in stir-fries. Rat, which is nice and salty like pork, is good in a stir-fry, too – I'll throw in celery, onion, peppers and, in autumn, wild mushrooms I've collected. Badger is not nice and hedgehog is hideous.

The reactions I get are mixed. When other drivers see me stop my car and get out to take something off the road, they beep their horns and shout at me. I find that upsetting. Of course I hate it that the animals have been killed, but the deed is done. Taking them off the road and making use of them is a good thing.

Sometimes I tell people I eat roadkill just to see their reaction. Most are really interested and think it's a brilliant idea. I've had a few people come back and tell me they've taken something home and cooked it themselves. Older people are a bit more confident about doing that – as a nation, we used to be a lot more comfortable preparing meat and fish from scratch. I get asked all the time to open a cafe or butchers. I got an email from an Australian who opened a roadkill cafe and was astounded we haven't caught on over here. Sadly, I don't have the time or money.

Then there are those who disapprove. I get told it's cruel, unhygienic and macabre. Nonsense. My choice to eat roadkill is rooted in respect for the environment. Most farmed meat sold in shops in the UK has been pumped full of hormones and is a huge burden on the environment. I've always been green: I don't use power unless I need to, I always recycle and I don't agree with hunting. I only take animals I know have died accidentally. If there was no more roadkill, I'd be a vegetarian.

When my friends come round for dinner, they always know the food will be odd – it could be a fox lasagne or a frog stir-fry. I usually let people know what's going in to a dish, but I did once serve a spaghetti bolognese at a dinner party and forgot to say what was in it. After we finished, there was a row about whether it was venison or pheasant. When I revealed it was two-owl bolognese – part tawny, part barn – a silence fell across the room. For a moment everyone looked quite shocked, then someone broke the silence. "That was delicious," he said. "And I'm glad the owls were put to good use." I couldn't agree more.

As told to Fiona Clampin

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