Tastes like Chicken

Soooo, seems like we've finally found our way into the wonderful world of blogging. Never would have happened had it been just up to me, but thanks to Kat (the artistic designer behind the blog), we didn't even have to lift a finger to get it up and running. Thanks, Kat! You know me too well.

Last Saturday marked a day our little chickens will never forget. I refer to my little people; Thys, Mia, Jake & Josie, and not the ones living out in the coop (Delilah, Loretta, Fluffy & Speed Racer). However, I wouldn't be suprised if those girls (the hens) might also have this special memory blazened into their little pea-brains.

Several weeks back we realized we had landed ourselves a male amongst our hens, Ryans chicken he had named Pepe (like, Pepe le Pugh). Not a coincidence he gave him a more masculine name, I guess. In August, he started "warming up his vocalizer", and after several weeks there was no mistaken; his mighty crow drowned out any other little peep the other girls were making. With time (but not too much time) we decided his voice, in addition to his aggression towards Fluffy, couldn't be tolerated, so we started to look around for a second home for the guy. We advertised on Craigslist, Freecycle, local feed stores & nurseries, but didn't get any bites. On Saturday morning, we were desperate; Fluffy was either going to make her way to chicken heaven, or Pepe was going to be Sunday dinner. And so you see our dilemma. It was a painful decision (well, in lots of ways I guess), but in the end we had to do our homework on how to butcher a chicken. And thus, Pepe, became tonights dinner. Ryan was the unfortunate weilder of the axe, and I chipped in a sorry two cents by helping him skin the little beast. Thys stood by offering moral support, but not too close by. Jake and Mia came out mid-process to assess the situation. Ryan had already, um, decapitated him, and Jake was very curious:

Jake: "What are you guys doing?"
Us: "Well, Dad killed the rooster."
Jake: "Huh?"
Us: "Yeah, Dad killed the rooster."
Jake: "Why?"
Us: "Because he was being mean to your chicken."
Jake: "Oh. Where are his eyes? Why can't I see his eyes?"
Us: Lots of muffled laughter, trying not to let Jake see.
Us again: "Well, Dad cut off his head...that's how he died."
Jake: "Huh? I want to see."
Us: "Uh, Thys threw it into the woods."
Jake: "Mom, I want to hold you!!"

Hmmm. They seemed to handle it remarkably well. A-hem.

So in the end, Pepe became our barbequed dinner ("the secrets in the sauce"...name that movie) and I sat looking at him on the dinner plates of my family tonight with an unsettled tummy. Meanwhile, Mia declared, "I'll have a drumstick!", and Ryan dug in with his bare hands. Thys was game (hmmm), but Jake and I held back and opted for yoghurt and applesauce. All's I have to say is, I hope the luck of the draw doesn't deal us a rooster again. I guess if we ever HAD to butcher a chicken again, we'll know how. As I said, I don't know that all the little chickens 'round here will forget the day Pepe became Sunday dinner. And all's quiet in the chicken coop these days.