No one told me how much rape I might witness on a farm. None of the chicken sex that I have witnessed in the past two weeks seemed to be pleasant or consensual. I watched that rooster run down every hen on the yard and tag them. They ran from him but it didn’t matter. They all got got.
All of my hens are missing back feathers because of his spurs and frequent, violent mating. Now that he is gone, they are calmer. This is a win for everyone it seems.
I’ll admit that mistakes were made on my part that got us off on the wrong foot. He attacked that foot repeatedly, so we had to part ways. I felt quite bad about this outcome and I vowed to not repeat these mistakes. I’m a bit wiser and I’m sure I have much more to learn.
I took the rooster on his final ride this morning. After some calls and crows to his hens, he seemed depressed or scared and didn’t make a sound. He went on a tour of each of the classrooms at Gabby’s school. Then, I made the drive to the butcher.
It turns out that maybe this was not his last day. I didn’t want to kill the guy after all and when I was given the choice to trade him for another hen, rooster, or meat, I was relieved. I chose another rooster to be ‘processed’ and left Sinister chicken to his fate. My chosen chicken was taken behind closed doors and 10 minutes later, a nice man handed me a plastic grocery bag full of meat.
‘Oh God, its warm!’ was the first thought I had.
Then, I immediately thought about all the salmonella that I just knew the bag must contain. We have all been trained to run in the opposite direction of warm chicken meat. It was WARM. I have never felt warm raw chicken in my life and it freaked me out.
That was one of the most disconcerting moments of my life.
I calmed down and drove home. It wasn’t tainted, just newly dead. At home, I opened the bag of goodies to see what I got. I’d had a brief conversation with the butcher and we established that I wanted all the usable parts including the head and feet. I see a rich bone broth in my future.
I wasn’t prepared for just how gruesome it would look. There’s no real end here. I’ll cook him next week. I ate the liver and the heart today. Tasted like chicken.
An escape from the suburbs and corporate America spawned a journey into rural living. Writer, wife, mother, and local chicken lady, join me as I fail, fail, fail! and learn along the way.