Sunday, December 31, 2006

A good day to die

It was a beautiful winter day today, sunny but crisp and cold. Four roosters met their end--Branwell, Mr. Collins, and the two youngest who never had names, as did Nellie, a mean little hen who, once she promoted herself to head hen, never laid another egg. All are lying in state in the refrigerator waiting for rigor mortis to pass, and then they will marinate in red wine for a few more days.
Woman with Needlework will be relieved to know that in the end I couldn't bring myself to put the cleaver to Wendolyn; plump and unproductive as she is, she's just too sweet and good natured to kill. Mr. Darcy, now that he's the sole surviving rooster, is being more of a jerk than ever, attempting to bring the SGS ladies, who are a couple in their own right and do not wish to consort with a rooster, thankyouverymuch, into his harem.


Anonymous Allotment Lady said...

That really cheered me up! I can't bear to think of you taking an axe to a chicken - I could never do that.

But this year I am going to be realistic. If I get my banties to hatch out chickens and some of them are roosters then they will have to be for the pot - so I am going to call them all Dinner.

07 January, 2007 14:44  
Blogger Molly said...

Lottie, it took me years to come around to being able to kill my own chickens, even when I had an injured one that needed to be put out of its misery. Then one day a rooster attacked my daughter, cutting a deep gash in her leg. I marched him over to the chopping block. I think it was Gertrude Stein who said, after butchering a lobster, "it was clear that killing was something one could become accustomed to."

10 January, 2007 22:40  

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