Or, “The Farmer Takes a Life.”
Sorry, hah, moving on…
There’s been some good-natured ribbing going on about the fact that the Farmer’s Wife has had yet to actually ‘off’ a bird.
This problem had to be solved. After all, if one intends to oneself a poultry farmer, one must actually, erm, harvest the poultry, yes?
I should probably warn you at this point that, yes, a bird DID DIE in the making of this post. Actually, a whole lot died that day; we were butchering 124 of them. So if you’re squeamish and dislike the sight of blood, you might choose to read something else instead. Like the news. Oh, wait…
Enter the Farmer’s Wife in her best butchering-day attire. The baby in the backpack is the Accessory of Choice, preferred by the best Poultry Farmers everywhere.
He’s awfully cute. Gorgeous eyes.
Back to our tale.
The current Maestro of Organized Poultry Death shows the finer points of a quick kill. Note the utility knife, his present weapon of choice.
Good tip, that.
But kinda a lot of work, feeding and watering you and your many feathered friends.
The trick is to cut through the artery quickly on both sides of the neck, stand back and let the bird bleed out.
Oh, and keep your mouth shut while doing the deed. ‘Cuz, well, don’t ask. Ew.
Let me just say that this isn’t my favorite part of butchering, either.
I get out of it because, hah, I did the first one.
And I stay busy at the de-feathering, eviscerating, and knife-sharpening stations.
When I’m not feeding Junior.
There’s always someone curious around.
It’s all worth it when we sit down to dinner.
Or when customers come and tell about how the chicken they purchased last year was the best they’d ever had.
And when my own children tell me that they’re so glad that they know where their food comes from.
Otherwise, it would just be icky, and we’d leave it to the professionals.
Wait, we ARE professionals now.