I've had ever so many questions about whether or not we will eat the chickens. My answer to that remains the same: if any of them turn out to be roosters, or if they sass me or bully their sisters, they will be killed and eaten. The advice to make sure they remain nameless in order to prevent us becoming too attached to them would be well aimed, if it weren't for one simple fact:
I am heartless. I will have no problem eating a chicken who is named. When I was in high school, we raised goats. Bert and Ernie weren't giving a lot of milk, on account of they were bucks. So we took them down to the slaughterhouse, or wherever you take livestock you need slaughtered. I can't remember what happened to the hides. I think my mom had some idea about bringing them home and chewing them and making shoes for the family--the way the Indians used to do. Not sure if that ever actually happened--the chewing, I mean. I know for a fact I never wore homemade goatskin shoes.
Anyway, we had raised those goats from tiny kids--fed them bottles and everything. When dinnertime rolled around, my sister just sat at the table and sobbed. But I laughed evilly and savored every bite.
Like I said. Heartless.
Still, I may have begun to develop some natural feelings in my old age. Maybe it's due to being a parent. The other day, when I was walking past the chicks with a box of chicken broth to use for soup, I felt a little guilty, and made sure they didn't see it. So there is a seed of doubt in my mind regarding my legendary iron stomach. Time will tell.
9 comments:
We raised 100+ chicks every year when I was a kid. We usually plucked the whites and let the brown ones lay eggs. (Is that racist? It just occurred to me it might be.) Anyway. I had no problems eating them. It's a Democrat thing. You'll be fine.
You ate goat? I ate goat once and it was the worst thing I've ever eaten. It was the one thing on my mission that I actually snuck into a napkin and then threw out as soon as I got outside.
Of course, someone later suggested that it was probably dog because goats were hard to come by in those parts... so maybe I just ate dog, and goat is fine.
My mom grew up on a farm and one of her responsibilites was the chickens. She said they were the stupidest things she had to deal with and never cared whether she ate them or not. So by the time the chicks have grown into chickens, you mightn't have a problem. Also, one of my uncle's main arguments for buying chickens was to use them as an early detection system for West Nile. So there is an added benefit for chicken ownership.
I can't believe you'd actually consider eating your "pets." How heartless can you be? Come to think of it, didn't Lola used to have Guinea pigs? Whatever happened to them anyway?
And I'm a bit curious about the living arrangements. Are your feathered friends going to live in the house with you, or is Mr. Tweedy going to build build a chicken coop out back? I'm just having some doubts about whether a litter box would work out. I'd hate to see your nice carpet get all messed up.
In a bizarre coincidence, my two closest friends (who have never before met) both have backyard chickens. So, I would be remiss if I didn't introduce you.
DG, please meet Allie.
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I wish I could get more chickens! Baby chicks are adorable. I got three last year (and thankfully they all turned out to be girls). I kept them in a rubbermaid bin in the laundry room until they got too big.
We're planning on eating them when they stop laying (hello Mrs. Tweedy). My Mr. is planning on killing and plucking them and delivering them to me in non-pet looking form.
(We named them too, and they are a lot of fun)
(The eggs are great too!)
my guinie pigs were sold by a heartless parent.
Awsome! I love that you had no problem with eating the goat.
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