To all my vegetarian, animal-rights friends, you may want to skip this one.
We have chickens. Up until today around 8:30 a.m. we had about, oh, 28. At 8:31 a.m. we were down to 27.
Eric's been itching to get rid of a rooster (or 3) as they do nothing but make our hens nervous. (In order to keep this blog family-friendly, we'll leave it at that). Eric's itchiness tends to be contagious and Michael has been asking if he could do the job. Last night he asked if he could try killing one of our roosters with his bow and arrow (no, not the suction cup kind - he has a real one, just the arrow head isn't extremely sharp). With a resounding, "sure" from daddy, Michael went to bed dreaming of hunting the big bad rooster.
When I came down at 7:30 this morning (before you get any ideas of me sleeping the day away, I had been awake tending to the baby for an hour), Michael and his sister were outside trying to "off" Big R. When the arrow-thing didn't work, Mike caught it and tucked it under his arm. Seeing this, I told him to go out to the barn and ask daddy what to do next. Secretly, I was hoping Eric would discourage our hunter-son from making the kill.
A few minutes later, my daughter came in as she was cold. "Michael's going to kill the rooster with an ax!" she announced.
"In the barn."
"Is daddy out there with him?"
"Nope. No one is out there."
"Michael's alone in the barn and is going to kill the rooster with an ax?!"
"That's what he says."
Ten year old boy. Ax. Moving target.
I call Eric. I'm thinking he's not going to want the barn all messed up with blood. I thought wrong. He thought the whole thing was hysterically funny. "It's a good learning experience. Better than school."
Yeah, a trip to the ER is just the field trip I'm looking for!
I won't go into the grotesque details, but, a little while later, Mike brought up Big R - minus his head.
While all this was going on, I'm thinking, "So, once the thing is dead, what are we going to do with it? We didn't get anyone lined up to take care of it to make it edible. Too bad, what a waste of food."
I shouldn't have worried. Apparently, when a girl marries a farmer, the marriage license actually has a clause written in very fine print that she will boil, de-feather, and skin any fowl killed on their property. Unfortunately for me, I forgot the magnifying glass on my wedding day.
Knowing that you all would never believe it, here's the proof.
In the meantime, I get a call from a guy who asks if I have a minute. Hmm - 7 kids and a rooster waiting to be plucked. Sure, I got a minute.
I then hear the story of how this man shot a deer on our property last night, only to have some other guy who hunts there track him down, enter his garage, and, carrying a gun, threatens to call the DEC on the guy. Great. Dead roosters. Dead deer. Almost a dead guy. All in an hour and a half.
But, hey, it was "a great learning experience - better than school!"
Welcome to my life!