Cocks Blocked

I was attacked. I was walking from my garage to my house, and I was attacked in my own yard. I felt a blunt force blow to the back of my left knee accompanied with a sharp pain. When I turned around, there stood a puffed-up, dancing, cocky cock. One of our roosters decided to assert his dominance by taking me on…

So what did you do this weekend? I butchered roosters. You know those chicks we brought home last Spring with intentions of butchering? Those chicks that Miss E fell in love with that we didn’t butcher? They gone. They got to meet the woodblock. Well, the majority of roosters are anyway.

Our flock was heavy on the male side of the gender pool, so today we will practiced corrective community culling.

As a kid I grew up on a farm with animals and we raised most of the produce and butchered a fair share of our meat. I remember helping with the processes and always understanding the process of where food comes from.

I didn’t know how Miss E and Miss A would react to the process, but they were fine. Miss E averted her eyes the first time a rooster was dispatched, and then she watched. She didn’t like the killing part, not that anyone does, but she wanted to help where she could in the rest of the process. Miss A just wandered around investigating as 2-year olds do.

As my father-in-law explained the fine art of cleaning, I talked through what we were doing for Miss E, and we shared stories from when we were kids on the farm, memories and knowledge were passed down. An understanding of where food comes from was achieved. My kids now realize that there’s a lot of things that happen to make that unassuming chicken breast appear at the local grocery store.

Our docile and now lone rooster, Big Red, is thoroughly enjoying his new harem of exclusive hens, I am enjoying the sense of independent accomplishment of putting up our own food, and the girls are enjoying not having to keep a wary eye because the “mean roosters” are no longer in the yard: they are safely in the freezer.

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