I
can’t believe I did that…
The
Chicken killer
As
I was laying there thinking.. as I do
from time to time.. when I should be sleeping.. something from the past came up
to mind. It was how I learn how to kill
chickens.. to eat that is.. not for fun.
My
first chicken I was involved with killing was at the age of about 5 or 6. I was down at my grandfather’s house, down
the road from us. He and I got along
great.. He used to hold me up so I could
get grapes from his arbor… he had a huge wooden frame, as you came out of the
back door. On it was grapes.. the grapes
themselves hung down thru the slates. While the vines were mostly above the
slates. So Grandpa use to hold me up, so
I could get a handful.. Don’t know what he and Gladys did with the grapes. Don’t remember him making wine.. maybe she
made jam. But this is getting away from
the story of the lesson on how to kill a chicken for dinner.
See
he took me out to the chicken pen.. He picked out a rooster. Then we went to the side yard.. he had a
small piece of wood there.. and he leaned the roosters neck across it. But
first he drew a line in the dirt on the other side of the stick. He said.. now watch this.. so you will know
how to do this when you are older. As he
drew the line, and laid the rooster neck over the stick and his beak in the
dirt line… the rooster calmed down and
did not move. Grandpa picked up the
hatchet and came down on the neck. Dead
chicken.. And the shocking part is.. at
the age of 5 or 6, I was not horrified by that.. It was just getting a chicken
for dinner.. Wow.. and the other shocking part is .. I remember this my whole life.. and used it
when I was married and raising chickens 35 years later.
My
next conquest of chicken killing was when I was about 10. Mom use to order baby
chicks.. The post office would call the day before.. So that Mom would be ready the next
day.. Down in our basement.. Dad had built a metal round hoop, that was about
10 feet and about a foot or two high.. it was filled up with wood
shavings. There was a hood with a light
bulb in the center.. that went over about 3 feet to this hoop. When the postman drove up.. he would hand mom
a box about 3 foot square and about 6 inches tall.. that you could hear the baby chick
chirping. I would run ahead of her to
the back door, opening doors as we went
in the house, and down the stairs to the basement… and over to the hoop. I would hold the hood out of the way.. (it was hanging from the rafters with baling
wire. Mom would put the box down on the
shavings, and open it.. and out flowed about 40 or so yellow baby chicks. She always got leghorns. It was my brothers and mine job to put feed
it the feeder and water in the water jars that automatically flowed for them to
drink… After about 3 or 4 weeks, they would be big enough to take out side to
the chicken house. Then several weeks
later.. it was K day.. killing the
chickens.. Dad would get a fire going in
a pit he would build out of dirt and rocks. With wood inside. After the fire
was going well, he would put a huge pot of water on it.. When the water was close to boil, he would
round up the chickens that we were going to kill. We killed about 20 of them at a time.. Usually
twice in one month.. keeping the others for laying hens. The routine was.. Dad would chop off the
head.. and let them run around until they stopped. Then my brother would grab the chicken and
bring it back to my dad, who held on to the chicken by its legs.. and then dunk
it in to the water.. after a little
bit, he would pull it out and give it to my brother who brought it in to the
shed where my mother and I were .. we had thin rope hanging down from the rafters.. He would hand it to my mother or me, which
ever one of us was ready.. and we would
tie the chicken up by its legs.. with the rope, and then start rubbing off the
feathers that came off easy with the water still hot on them.. Then the hard part.. the tiny
pinfeathers.. One after another.. as
soon as one of use was getting close to being done.. we would yell out.. OK..
and Dad would do another one.. Until we were done with 20 chickens.. Our part was to get all the feathers off of
it.. split the body down from neck to
butt.. pull out the guts and throw them
in the pot near by.. Mom would boil them
in the pot after we were done and made dog and cat food from them. Then we take them into the kitchen and finish
clean up of them.. taking the feet off and etc. We did this for years… so when I had a family .. I knew what to do.
When
Marv and I lived in Ellensburg.. we added rabbits to that bunch.. that was not my idea.. But Marv figured it was another meat for us..
besides chicken and deer. Marv did the
slaughter part on them.. I did pull the
hide off.. and I process it by washing them in an old wringer wash machine.. I
would put rock salt rub on the inside of the hide and let it dry in the sun..
the plan was to make gloves out of them..
We had some Siamese rabbits that look like the color of a cat.. and they came out nice. Don’t know why I
never did anything with them.. I saw a
way to do them in a book series that I owned call Foxfire.. it was a book series
that some school teacher had his students interview their parents and grandparents
in the Ozarks. I do remember one of my
son’s taking over the slaughter part… I
just couldn’t do that.. We had a couple
that were pets, they hung out with the cats..
even coming into the house and sleeping with the cats.. and when the
cats went outside to go to the bathroom the two rabbits did too. Rarely ever messing in the house. I did not tan the hides while we lived in
Vay.. Don’t know why. Guess because I
never used the other ones. Gave them
away to someone else who was going to do gloves.
But
looking back at that.. it is hard to
believe.. that I did that.. Just you do
things you had to do, had to get it done….
Never figured out that I had any other choice.. I think part of the rabbit deal fell thru
when my youngest daughter figured out it wasn’t chicken she was eating..and
wanted to see the wings first before she ate any. Lol..
