Chicken Wars

My 1600th post!
I was worried. I guess I needn't have been.Warning: Graphic chicken action

Mmmm. Dinner!

Some ranch kids end up with a skewed view of life.

Let me explain . . .

Husby was butchering a chicken.

This involves such things as a head and foot-ectomy, removal of several important inner organs, and complete de-feathering.
Our kids had never witnessed this.

Though they had been raised on a ranch, all animals had been sent off site for 'processing'.

This was their first exposure to one of the more graphic of ranch experiences.

I had been a little concerned for their sensibilities.

I needn't have worried.

They were front and center.

And jostling for position.

Grant placed the chosen/unfortunate chicken on the stump and, with one blow, removed the head.

"Oooooh!"

Then he allowed the chicken to go through its death throes.

"Ahhhhh!"

Then the all-important soaking in hot water to loosen the feathers.

"Stinky!"

And the gutting and dismembering.

"Cool!"

Finally, we had, sitting on a plate, what would eventually be our dinner.

The rest of the chicken--the head, viscera and feathers, were gathered together to place in a sack for disposal.

Then Husby picked up one of the feet. "Watch this, kids!" he said.

He pulled on a tendon and the foot flexed. Claws closed. 

Uh-oh, I thought.

"It's gonna get you!" Everyone scattered, screaming, as he enacted his own version of Day of the Living . . . Chicken.

Okay, so it'll probably never be a hit.

Back to my story . . .

"Wow, Dad, that is the coolest thing ever!"

"Let me try! Let me try!"

They took turns pulling on the exposed tendon. Squeamish? I think not.

Our youngest daughter grabbed one of the feet.

"I'm gonna get you!" she hollered at her sister.

"Screech!"

And the chase was on.

The two of them spent some time pursuing each other.

Finally, breathless and happy, they relinquished their chicken feet to their impatiently waiting brothers.

Who proceeded to enact act two . . .

And I had been worried.

Pfffff.