A Conversation I Didn't Want to Have
Last night after Casey and I got home, went to do chores together. As we were taking care of the chickens, Casey said, "It's going to be time to butcher some chickens next year." Immediately I was confused because I had assumed we would be burying our chickens...not eating them. After rubbing my ears for a second to make sure that I heard him correctly, I said, "Um...what?"
"We need to butcher chickens next year." My heart sunk.
"Why?" I asked.
"We're getting too many," he said.
"We can't butcher these chickens! They follow us everywhere...I, I, I...I even named them!" I exclaimed, "We're supposed to bury these chickens, not eat them! I'm too attached to them! So no. NO we are not butchering these chickens!"
"Well...we need to do something about them...we can't keep having more and more chickens..." He had a point. We do have a lot of chickens. But there's an easy way to solve that: Get rid of the rooster.
"Well," I began, "Lucia, Ethyl, Beatrice, Gladdys, Ethyl's baby, Goldie, and Aretha Franklin are off limits!" I said. "What about the speckled ones?"
"You raised those from chicks, and you're okay with butchering those?" he asked.
"Well they don't follow me to the mailbox, and they run away from me. Oh, hey! What about Flo? She bites me, and so does her baby. What about the rooster? He's hard on Gladdys...he can go."
Casey just rolled his eyes and laughed. I can't help it. Those chickens are going to live a long, healthy, happy life. I have no intention of having them follow me to the chopping block and asking them to hop up on the log...This is what happens when someone like me gets chickens. If I knew he had the intention of eating them someday, I would never have named them.
"We need to butcher chickens next year." My heart sunk.
"Why?" I asked.
"We're getting too many," he said.
"We can't butcher these chickens! They follow us everywhere...I, I, I...I even named them!" I exclaimed, "We're supposed to bury these chickens, not eat them! I'm too attached to them! So no. NO we are not butchering these chickens!"
"Well...we need to do something about them...we can't keep having more and more chickens..." He had a point. We do have a lot of chickens. But there's an easy way to solve that: Get rid of the rooster.
"Well," I began, "Lucia, Ethyl, Beatrice, Gladdys, Ethyl's baby, Goldie, and Aretha Franklin are off limits!" I said. "What about the speckled ones?"
"You raised those from chicks, and you're okay with butchering those?" he asked.
"Well they don't follow me to the mailbox, and they run away from me. Oh, hey! What about Flo? She bites me, and so does her baby. What about the rooster? He's hard on Gladdys...he can go."
Casey just rolled his eyes and laughed. I can't help it. Those chickens are going to live a long, healthy, happy life. I have no intention of having them follow me to the chopping block and asking them to hop up on the log...This is what happens when someone like me gets chickens. If I knew he had the intention of eating them someday, I would never have named them.
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