adios amigo

Last spring, I mentioned our rooster's days were numbered. It got to the point that our kids would not to go outside because they were afraid of being attacked by the mean thing. I tried shackin' him up with the hens again, but he pecked one of their eyes out (now she looks like a pirate hen). I had enough...it was time to turn Mr. Rooster into Sunday dinner.

I remember seeing my grandma butcher a turkey when I was a little girl. I was so grossed out I had a hard time eating any of it. It's funny how we have become so disconnected with our food. I seldom think about the origins of the food I buy at the grocery store. When I buy a carton of eggs, I don't imagine them coming out a chicken's butt...I just eat them! However, when I started collecting eggs from my own chickens it was hard to eat them. Coming out the chicken's butt was the ONLY thing I could think about!

There is nothing thrilling to me about killing an animal so please don't report me to PETA. I expected the chicken to run around after it was butchered, but nothing too exciting happened.

In all, it was a very interesting day. It made me realize how lucky we are to have so much food at such convenience. Count your blessings that you don't have to go chase down a bird in your yard when you have a taste for chicken dinner.

The first few bites were a little strange when we realized WHO we were eating, but in all it was a rewarding feeling be eating something that we raised ourselves. Thanks Mr. Rooster!

FYI, someone told me chef, Gordon Ramsay, is a big fan of raising your own food too - does that mean am I as crazy as he is?!