So, we finally bit the bullet and butchered a chicken. Now, we’ve put a couple of them down before, but we had not, until today, killed a perfectly healthy chicken for the sole purpose of eating it. We had planned to butcher back in October or early November, but I was far too queasy to even think about wet feathers, let alone guts.
I thought I was over the queasy stage of pregnancy, but apparently I was wrong. I did manage not to puke, however. Even when I was breaking the leg joint, horrifying sound and all. Nor when I was scraping guts out with my fingernails. I thought I did pretty well, considering.
Wet feathers do stink, as do chicken guts. Really, though, that’s probably pregnant-nose speaking – I can smell salt-and-vinegar chips from two miles away right now. Not-pregnant, the smell probably would not be too bad.
We really did not get a tidy result. There were hangy bits and ragged cuts and little hairs – can you believe that chickens have hairs? These were decidedly not feathers. I tried to singe them off with a candle, but mostly just got wax down my arm. I was getting sick of the whole business by then. “That’s okay,” Hubby said, “We just won’t put this one in a skirt”. I’m glad he’s relaxed about the state of his food.
Hubby feels like we’ve turned a corner in our homesteading. He feels like we’re more legit, since we’ve killed something with the intent of eating it for supper (eventually). We were both worried that we might wind up with twenty-some-odd rooster ‘pets’. I’m fairly pleased with our results, considering it’s a first try and all.
Anyways, we now have a (slightly ragged and hairy) chicken in the freezer, and we’ve gotten most of the feathers off the kitchen floor. However, it’s going to be a couple of weeks before we eat chicken, I’m afraid…