Today is the day. We have 13 chickens, two of them roosters. I can’t buy chicken at the grocery store when I have a yard full that need feeding. The oldest rooster, named “Mister”, has gotten kinda mean and sometimes attacks people. Actually I’m not sure if it’s an attack or an attempt at mounting. But either way it’s time for him to go. The kids have even stated that they want to eat him because he is so mean and they are afraid of him.

I looked on the Internet and found some good directions for butchering. I read them, go outside, get out my ax, get the rooster. It takes a few minutes to work up the courage My stomach feels kinda icky and I am pale. I put him on the block, grab my ax, and out of fear that I would hit my hand I miss! Off he goes. A hatchet would be easier than a full size axe. I go back in the house and grab a kitchen knife, catch him and try again. It’s not easy to cut a chicken’s head off with a kitchen knife but I do it. It was horrible.

I do the plucking, cleaning and bring the chicken in the house. After washing in the pot it goes. When you do this you realise that the process of butchering changes the bird from “a chicken” to just “chicken”. I have gotten him in the pot and ready to go in the oven when the kids get home from school. I am still somewhat out of sorts from the whole thing. The first thing Jaimy says as she walks in the door, “What’s for supper?”

“Chicken” I answer.

Instantly “Who?”

“Chicken”. I did not want to talk about it. It was not pleasant, actually, it was horrible. I’m sure that the next time will be easier.

A couple of hours later we are eating the toughest meat I have ever had in my life. I now know where the expression “He’s a tough old bird” comes from.

Next morning we are in our regular routine. When we go out for the girls to get the bus I feed and let out the chickens. Jaimy is standing there when the chickens come out and she asks “Where’s Mister?”

“He’s gone”.

Her lip comes out, her eyes well up with tears, “Your mean… I’m never eating your chicken again.”

After school the first thing she says to Laura is “Daddy cooked Mister, I’m never eating his chicken again. I was starting to like him”

I used the left over meat to make a pot of soup, every one enjoyed it. Mister was not talked about at all.

Naming chickens is a bad idea.

Hopefully it will go better with our other chickens. They have names like, “Pot Pie”, “Stew”, “Barbeque”, “White Meat” and “Dark Meat”. Any chickens we get after this won’t have a name.