To Slaughter or To Be Slaughtered

 

Me:  To Slaughter

2 Chickens and 1 Rooster:  To Be Slaughtered.

I really never thought I could (would) bring myself to be the slaughterer.  The Animal Whisperer does that.  I don’t have a problem eating it, it’s just that I have had the luxury of staying in the kitchen to be the recipient of the slaughtered.  It arrives to me similar to how a grocery store chicken arrives to me.  Except without the styrofoam and plastic wrap.

This time was different.  The Animal Whisperer had surgery on his wrist and thus has (temporarily) lost his slaughtering capability.  But, he brought home two free hens and one free rooster.  To eat them.

Enter: Me. 

The Slaughterer.

I’ve seen various stages of the process, but have never actually done any of it myself.  Nothing.  Nada.

So, I decided it was my time.  My time to live up to my farm girl persona.  Time to see if I have what it takes to be considered a pretty good, pretty real farm girl. 

That’s me after I killed the first one.  Notice the slightly disgusted look on my face. 

I did not enjoy the actual killing part.  I’ve never taken the life of any living thing bigger than a stink bug.  But, I did it.  I followed most of the Animal Whisperer’s directions for how to do it and what to do.  The boys watched.  I do believe they were actually proud of their mother.  At least I like to think that, anyway.

My father, on the other hand, is shocked. 

And, my mother.

I proudly told them that night at dinner that I had slaughtered, all by myself, my first chickens that day, and in a rare occurence in our family, my dad was speechless. 

My mom spoke, although not very intelligibly.

Dad is still adjusting to what the heck happened to his college-educated-daughter-turned-Laura-Ingalls.  He still loves me, of that I’m certain, but it is quite possible that he will never adjust. 

I’ve told them both that they will not be going to nursing homes when the time comes…which won’t be any time soon.  They don’t have time to fit a nursing home in any time in the next 35 years due to their busy schedule of cycling, exercising, traveling, and thoroughly enjoying retirement.  But, if the time ever comes that they might need to have a lot more care, I’ve told them, they’re moving here. 

To my house. 

I’ll cut their toenails.  (Something that has concerned my mom for years).

I’ll take care of them.

So, Dad, you’ll just have to adjust to eating home-grown chicken and drinking goat’s milk.  Maybe by that time you’ll need everything pureed, so you won’t know the difference anyway.

And, Mom, I know you’ll just smile and eat it no matter what I give you.

I love you both.

And, one of those chickens was REALLY good the other night in the soup I made.

–  The Goat Cheese Lady

About The Goat Cheese Lady

I am Lindsey. At first I was a city girl. Growing up, the closest thing I had to farm animals were a cat and a cockatiel. In 2009, Herbert (my husband) and I bought our first milk goat and I instantly became an urban farmgirl, attempting to balance city and farm life..before I knew “urban homesteading” was a thing. That’s when we began The Goat Cheese Lady Farm, hence The Goat Cheese Lady blog you’re visiting now. After moving to the country in 2014, I embarked on life as a rural farmgirl. We continued teaching farm and cheesemaking classes, raising more goats and began construction on our cheese creamery. But life had other plans and in 2017, we decided that, due to financial and health issues, we had to close the farm for business. No more classes, no more creamery, a lot less milking. We went back to off farm jobs, I as an Occupational Therapist, Herbert in construction with his business, D&A Home Remodeling. At that point, I made a silent promise to myself that I would corral my entrepreneurial mind and focus on a job for a year. Well, it has been a year and I am back. Not to classes, cheese, soap or lotion, but back to writing. I love it. I’m not sure where it will lead me, but that’s where I’m starting. I’ll continue to write as The Goat Cheese Lady for now, and whatever the future holds, I’ll let you know. Our two boys are 14 and 11 and continue to be louder than my sister and I ever were. We have two dogs, Montaña and Flash, a cat, Jumpy, a flock of chickens and three goats. Yes, we still have Lucy, the goat who helped us start it all and was milked by over 1,000 people. She’s retired but still the boss. Chocolate provides enough milk for our family with some to spare for the dogs. Soccer friends, school friends, coyotes and mice are frequent visitors. There are way too many flies and every so often we see an owl. I’m glad you’re here. Sometimes you’ll laugh out loud, other times you’ll be inspired to appreciate the small things. My hope is that, over your morning cup of coffee or your afternoon work break, you’ll enjoy the antics and inspiration that are my daily life. Lindsey
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7 Responses to To Slaughter or To Be Slaughtered

  1. Melanie says:

    I was thinking the same thing as Melina. LOVE your dad’s reponse. He sounds like a sweet and entertaining guy.

  2. Dad, I love you. You can have a Martini. With goat’s milk.
    – Lindsey

  3. Melina says:

    You had me worried for a minute when you went from slaughtering chickens to saying your parents don’t have to worry about being in a nursing home…

  4. Dad says:

    I hunted. I fished. I am a Marine, and I am a succesful, and now retired businessman. If the goatcheeselady and her family have to take care of me in my old age, I’ll eat the home grown chickens. I’ve done that before. I’ll bathe with the goat milk soap. (I currently shower with Dove, another animal.) However, I will not drink the goat milk. (Even my granddaughter refuses it.) I prefer the fat free Farm Crest milk from cows, and I can afford to have delivered. Seriously, I am very proud of my daughter. I actually believe that she is a throwback to her ancestors who had to live off the land. Can I still have a Martini?

  5. Rachel says:

    Been there done that! Good job.

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