the squawk about the slaughter

This past weekend has been a bit of a crazy one. Two poetry readings and then a chicken 'harvesting' (Mike says that's the PC way of saying 'slaughter'.) Also planted 34 more tomato plants.

But, then again, it's a typical weekend... working our asses off (isn't we supposed to be havin' a fiesta!) and making something of ourselves.

Then... there's the dog. The dog. No, not Barbecue, the other one. The one that's gone, now. The one that, when it saw my pellet gun aimed at its head, knew what it was and high-tailed it... a few times. But it always came back. Like I said, we were butchering chickens and Barbecue is in heat. These two seemingly disparate things are brought together by the fact that the stray dog not only had a piece of ass, but was looking to have some of that wonderful chicken flesh, as well.

Ah, the chicken slaughtering... errr, the butchering... errr, the HARVESTING process. What a thing this is. We went to Home Despot on Friday seeking a solution to the hanging of the chickens (upside down) so that they could bleed out. We bought these very expensive little doohickeys to do just that, but then Mike stayed up that night and figured out another way. And it was a better way. Slip knots on twine. Cheap, better, best, really.

But I'm the knot-maker, having come from a fishing background where, if it wasn't tied, tied up or tied down, it was gone in the wind or the water. I also had a fascination for crocheting as a kid, a hobby I was glad to give up for poetry or something else less useful. Nonetheless, the skill of tying knots has remained and so I did this. It was a trade-off. I did the knots, Mike did the evisceration of the chickens. I also plucked most of them and packed them in coolers and such.

On Saturday morning, I swear, I think we were both stalling and then we had to purchase ice (never do this from a convenience store) for which we paid a fortune. The second load of ice that Mike had to go get was a lot cheaper from the local grocery chain. We set everything up and started around 9:30. We did in 24 chickens from then until 4:30 in the afternoon, taking just a few breaks and getting rained on from time to time. Luckily, it was light rain and didn't last for very long. The goats hung around all morning and most of the afternoon, very curious about what we were doing. At one point, the main rooster strutted up to the table and squawked, seeing that two chickens were hanging upside down. He quickly returned to the barnyard and we didn't see him for another hour.

As the chickens hung upside-down, Mike slit their throats and let them bleed out into buckets - usually about a few tablespoons per bird. And these are LARGE birds. We fed them well.

The chickens, once upside-down, flapped around a while and I waited until they died then put them, one at a time, into the very hot water. We kept the burners on in the kitchen the whole day so that we would have a constant supply of hot water. Without the hot water, the feathers are extremely difficult to remove.

We did in two at a time, thinking that we would be able to handle five or six, but two was plenty. Mike would grab them out of the chicken area, bring them into the side yard where a ladder, a long table, buckets of ice and coolers were. I put the slipknots over their legs and tightened them, then he hung them over the buckets on a board attached to the ladder. It's funny, but after a while, the chickens stopped running to him when he would enter the coop area. Usually, he is the one who feeds them and they are HAPPY that he is there, but when he started removing them two at a time, I think they got suspicious. At least, as suspicious as they could get having little tiny chicken brains.

After we plucked them, Mike took the bile duct and anus out, then the lungs and the other parts of the chicken. He cut the head off and then when he was done, threw the main carcass into a bucket of ice, put the head and chicken feet into the same bucket and the liver and gizzards into a pot with ice.

After this was all done, we cleaned up and I used the feathers for my compost as well as the heavy blood in the buckets. Mike cleaned all the buckets up and I put things away.

We have a friend who is a little squeamish about the killing part, but I have to say that when Mike would slit their throats, he would say that he is sorry. Is that better?

My compost is happy and will be MUCH happier when we are done with the rest of the chickens (16 left to 'harvest') -- this means I get to have all the good poop from their area for my compost. The temperature of the pile was such that it was beginning to burn the stuff at the bottom. This is when you know the heat is there and the compost is working.

However, during the day, the whole 'harvesting' process left us not so hungry for lunch (each of us ate a half sandwich). It wasn't so bad after the first few chickens, but we ate dinner out that night. Mike had chicken flautas, but I couldn't stand the thought of it and had enchiladas. They had no chicken in them. It may be a while... at least for me. But the cornish crosses, after all that, look exactly like the chickens you get at the grocery store. And I know these don't have 'water added' and they are disease free. It won't take long before I get used to the idea of eating them again.

Such a graceful Saturday with planting tomatoes and so civilized at a poetry reading and then... SAVAGE SLAUGHTER of HELPLESS BEASTS! Really.. this is our life. The graceful and the grateful, the seedless and the seediness, the growth of new things and the death of others. Sometimes I wonder if it gets any better than this.