Editor’s Note: This is Part Six of our ongoing series about theteet’s foray into the world of the chicken farmer. Descriptions are graphic.
this, my friends, is the cold, hard, deep-frozen reality of the omnivore.
if you’ve ever carved into a rotisserie chicken or chomped down on a chicken salad sandwich, don’t act like you don’t have blood on your hands. plus, these Teter-range® chickens, as jaydubs, well, dubbed them, lived a guaranteed happy life, as short as it may have been. i think they were hormone-free, unless you count the antibiotics that came in their baby chick feed … ? anyway, we didn’t inject any green slime into them like they show on the PETA videos.
if Seth believed in blogging, this entry would be much more entertaining. this morning he took the birds to a local Amish family who killed and dressed them for us while he waited. apparently one of the seven or so children was strangely intoxicated by his own chicken-erasing powers.
there are eight egg-layers left to live another day. (those birds, in my opinion, are much, much cooler and pleasant to have around. the others seemed to rarely take their heads out of the feeding trough. crazy Cornish-rocks.) eggs are expected by august, maybe?
in sum, it’s much harder to let someone kill your pig than your chickens. unless my heart has hardened. also, in one word: Rotisserie.
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