On Fri, 21 Nov 2008 13:20:00 -0500, Boater
wrote:



When I was a small kid in New Haven, my mother used to drive out to a
"turkey farm" out near where Eisboch lived and pick out a bird for
Thanksgiving. The farmer would band it, and the next day my mother would
pick up a plucked, refrigerated bird. I saw a few birds having their
heads removed while we were out there. No biggie, but...

Lots of variations on that. As a kid I watched gramps on the Ozark
farm lop off chicken heads on a stump and let them run, spurting
blood. Probably for our amusement. Only remember seeing it once.
The dogs fought for the heads.
My wife used to clean the fowl her dad killed on the farm in Poland.
Once when she was 12 he told her to clean a goose he'd killed, and
when she opened the door the goose was slowly walking around
with its head dangling down. He had done a bad job, missing the vein.
That stuck in her head, like what stuck in mine.
First time she killed a rooster, she was holding it and couldn't do
it. Then the rooster perked up and started fighting to get loose and
scratched her. That ****ed her off and she lopped that suckers head
right off.
Me? Sometimes I think of Babe when I have a BLT, but mostly I just
ask for another BLT.

--Vic

Vic Smith wrote:
On Fri, 21 Nov 2008 13:20:00 -0500, Boater
wrote:


When I was a small kid in New Haven, my mother used to drive out to a
"turkey farm" out near where Eisboch lived and pick out a bird for
Thanksgiving. The farmer would band it, and the next day my mother would
pick up a plucked, refrigerated bird. I saw a few birds having their
heads removed while we were out there. No biggie, but...

Lots of variations on that. As a kid I watched gramps on the Ozark
farm lop off chicken heads on a stump and let them run, spurting
blood. Probably for our amusement. Only remember seeing it once.
The dogs fought for the heads.
My wife used to clean the fowl her dad killed on the farm in Poland.
Once when she was 12 he told her to clean a goose he'd killed, and
when she opened the door the goose was slowly walking around
with its head dangling down. He had done a bad job, missing the vein.
That stuck in her head, like what stuck in mine.
First time she killed a rooster, she was holding it and couldn't do
it. Then the rooster perked up and started fighting to get loose and
scratched her. That ****ed her off and she lopped that suckers head
right off.
Me? Sometimes I think of Babe when I have a BLT, but mostly I just
ask for another BLT.

--Vic


Ack. My grandfather on my mother's side was a butcher in the Boston
area. He was involved in the slaughter of some of the animals he sold. I
went with him once or twice when we were up in Boston for a visit. I
thought the whole process was disgusting, and the smell was just
unimaginable. But I sure liked what my grandmother did with the meat and
poultry he brought home!