Tales of the Lil’Peckers: Eggs are gross.

breakfast comes from chicken butts

breakfast comes from chicken butts

 

Editor’s Note: This is Part Ten of our ongoing series about theteet’s foray into the world of the chicken farmer. Descriptions are graphic.

 

i don’t care what you say. once you grab a hot egg straight from your chicken’s ladyparts, you’re never the same.

when we first killed our meat chickens, i had to work through a gag reflex related to eating their dead carcasses. 

the same thing is happening with all these eggs. 

when eggs come from a carton from a store, it’s east to ignore what they are. but when eggs come from a nest just outside your home, there is no denying it: omelets are made from chicken menstruation. that yellow part is a sac of protein designed to feed baby chicks. that clear white stuff is probably some form of snot.

two of our hens are laying now, and every time i sit down to a delicious breakfast of Teter-range® eggs, this is what i think of.

i’ve always been fascinated about how, culturally, it’s OK to eat some things, but gross to eat other things. for example, eating ground up muscle from a cow is completely acceptable, whereas consuming its tongue or liver — or maybe some other animal, like a horse — gives us the heebie jeebies.

currently, i’m in the stage of life where i get really excited on the day we thaw out one of our chickens: it means that in a few days we’ll have the most tender, delicious chicken on the planet. but initially, i had to choke it down like it was human flesh or something. i was not used to being so close to my food supply.

currently, i’m in the ‘gag down these eggs’ stage, where i imagine Mary Ann Krauss (known in some social circles as “Balls,”) raping our poor chickens every morning when we let them out of the cage. seriously, that dude is horny. and then, after he has sex with our lady chickens, they lay fertilized eggs, which take weeks of 90+ degree temperatures to develop, but every time i cook one of our eggs, i imagine crunching down on a tiny chicken skull (then i think of Balls doing his weird mating dance before raping the chickens) and then i want to throw up.

strange how i’m repulsed by the thought of eating a day-old microscopic chicken, but thrilled at the thought of consuming a 30-day old chicken.

our relationship with food is weird.

i can’t wait until this gag reflex passes, and i can enjoy my breakfast again.

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