At 8:30 this morning my friend, the Chicken Disciple, called me with urgent news. "We have a Rooster! It won't stop crowing! I think we have to kill it! I'm not prepared for this!" I pulled out my teacher's hat and gave appropriate advice for the occasion involving the sharpness of axes and the hillbilly version of a killing cone.
I told her that if she needed me I would come by after the meeting and assist in the butchering.
I was assured at the Kingdom Hall that the butchering had taken place. I countered: "You have killed it, not butchered it. You still need to pluck the feathers and remove the innards. I will be happy to show your children how to do this." The children seemed curiously unenthusiastic about the prospect, but I was invited over for a mid afternoon adventure.
I arrived wearing my chicken butchering apron and my poop shoes. I was ushered indoors and happy to see that they were preparing to boil water. In my experience, hot water is sufficient for a small number of birds. The hottest that your water heater will produce. I demonstrated this, and with six hands on deck short work was made of the feathers.
The Disemboweling was next, which is actually my favorite part. I was pleased to see The Chicken Disciple's Mate happily take up knives and, so to speak, dig in. His hands were too large however for the real work, which involves a hand in each end of the corpse gently detaching the innards from the flesh. When her hands came out full of "awful" we cheered! No bowel was nicked, no oil glands offended, and no bile ducts trespassed against.
The whole process took just under an hour. By the time I left she was looking forward to a meat bird purchase so she could do it all again. I have created a monster.
But I was paid handsomely with fruits of the garden and the heart.
Thank you, Chicken Disciple, for being my friend.