A few months ago, I tried to kill some chickens, but failed.
How's that? Did the chickens get the better of me? Did they run away? Did I have a last-minute change of heart?
None of the above. I showed up at Pete and Jen's Backyard Birds for the 11AM shift on one of their slaughter days, and the birds had all been slaughtered by the time I got there. So instead of killing chickens, I spent a few hours sorting hearts and livers into plastic containers, along with the occasional kidney, while keeping a keen eye out for gall bladders, which, if punctured or crushed, could ruin whatever meat they came into contact with.
I was reminded of this experience because I just read an article by Jennifer Reese, The Tipsy Baker, entitled What I Learned When I Killed A Chicken (with some great photos, linked here). It describes what happened when she bought some chicks to be layers, and one of them grew up to be a rooster, which she decided to eat. She does not experience any kind of spiritual revelation as a result of killing her own meat. Perhaps I was hoping she would.
When I eventually succeed in killing a chicken, I'll certainly share my thoughts.