The deed is done.

Ok. That totally sucked. I’ve learnt I am no good at murdering. Chickens that is. (Refer to previous post.) I was all brave and ready. Taking deep breaths, telling myself “You can do this! Provide a meal for your children, show them where dinner REALLY comes from. You can do it!”

I walked to the shed and took Glen’s good axe (don’t tell him that, he wanted me to use a rusty old macette…seriously? psycho!) I took it down to a log and tested it out. WHACK! Yep that’s a good axe. Now to catch a chook.

At first I was a little annoyed watching Bella, Sophie and Violet chasing the chickens. I just wanted to get this over with. As the time ticked away I began to smirk and then actually laugh. The chickens flapped, the girls dived and slipped over their own feet. My annoyance quickly turned to hysterics. Aww…my little chicken chasing hill billys.

“I got one!” Bella yelled. She’d nabbed Number One. A big -a bit too big- meat chicken. I’d let him grow too fat. Ok, to be honest I’d been kind of putting off this day. I couldn’t do it when Glen was home because he’d pass out and I didn’t want to wait any longer because like I said, he was already too big, plus they’ve been making a disgusting mess at my front door. Roosting on our wood box at night as it’s been too wet to put them in their house. Seriously chicken pooh everywhere.

Yuck.

So, Bella brought Number One to me and I grabbed him by the feet as I’d watched Dad do so many times and waited for him to stop flapping and carrying on. Once he relaxed I gently lay his head down onto the log. He kinda looked at me. Don’t make eye contact, I told myself. I looked at my girls. They were looking at me with varying degrees of disgust on their faces. Bella covering her ears as if that would help.  I tried to line up and make sure I could get this done in one quick clean movement. No need to prolong the process.

Except I kept checking the angles. Kept telling the girls it was ok. Yes I was totally stalling. But I couldn’t quit now, what would the girls think? We bought the chooks to eat, raised them to eat and the kids have known that from day one, we will eat these chickens. I have been completely open and honest about the process. I didn’t want them thinking that the chickens we buy are magically born without heads and wrapped in plastic with bread crumbs stuffed up their …. cavities.

So I lifted the axe and swung it down. Damn it. Not a complete decapitation, hanging on by a few feathers.

But I did it. And the girls were ok with it.

“Oh, I thought it would be worse.” “That wasn’t so bad.” “The chicken didn’t scream.’ Violet stated.

They happily ran off to chase down another chicken ‘for dinner.’

We did 4 in total. They didn’t like the plucking. So I did that. They didn’t like the removal of guts -neither did I- so I did that.

We Baked our chook in honey straight from the waxy honey comb and onions we dug up from the garden.

The smell was great.

They each tried some meat.

They all hated it.

Damn.

So much for that idea.

I guess at least I can go back to being a boring non-murderous mother.

But I did it. And at least now I know that if I am stranded in the middle of no where….no where that happens to have chickens….and an oven….and preferably a rubber glove or two for handling warm guts….I will survive.

Bear Grylls….pffft!

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