Chicken Slaughter

Farmer Bill explains the necessity of cutting both arteries in the neck

 Today was chicken killing day. Months ago the farm bought 24 ‘meat birds’ – pretty, male, typical-looking chickens. Lately they have been starting to try to crow, signaling their maturity. A delay to the slaughter would risk fights among the proudly matured males.

Given my delicate sensibilites and vegetarian leanings (in myth, if not truth), I was spared participation by the need for a volunteer to deliver CSA shares into town instead of slaughtering. I was able to stick around long enough, however, to watch the first couple rounds and take pictures.

First is the capture of the chickens from their “chicken-tractor”, a coop partially shaded with a tarp that is dragged around the pasture for benefit both of chicken and soil. The chicken is grabbed by its feet, loudly protesting but resisting little otherwise.

Then the beheading- the chicken is stuffed into an open cone, with its head and neck pulled through the bottom. The same little serrated knife we use to harvest lettuce and pea shoots is all that’s required to cut through the neck (the knife is nearly identical to those I have used yearly to carve pumpkins for Halloween). True to reputation, both the chicken’s head and body continue moving after beheading for at least a few seconds.

Chicken head bemoans its fate

The plucking begins with a dunk in hot water- something like 150˚, for 20 seconds or so. This allows for easy plucking, which renders the bird recognizably edible. There is still the disembowelment process, though, which is possibly the most gruesome. After cutting off the neck/feet, the internal gutting starts. Starting with the anus, you carefully cut around and pull everything out the back. The intestines, spleen, liver, heart, and esophagus are all visible. This part looks tricky; the inexperienced risk unappetizing splats and glops.

So that’s chicken-killing. Reportedly not as difficult to stomach as it seems. I’m not sure- maybe I would have been up for it? In consolation for my potential disappointment, Farmer Bill promises ominously “there will be more death”. Next time?