"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me"I'm not going to lie, as I write this I'm a little shaky. I've just rescued one of our roosters from a tangled garbage mess.
This is the 3rd rooster we have had since beginning this adventure of homesteading. The first one, (Hei-Hei) we got from a neighbor, that I feel, was trying to pay off his guilty conscience for stealing 2 of our dogs and dropping them by a railroad track. More on that in another post.
That was a great rooster! I didn't fully appreciate him while he was with us. We never knew what breed he was; my husband didn't like that we didn't know his story. Meaning, he wanted to have a rooster that he's had from a chick and raised up. Once we got another rooster, that was old enough. Hei-Hei was put on the chopping block!
This 2nd rooster, Frank, was a holy terror!! He attacked my kids and me constantly to the point that my kids were scared to leave the house, and wouldn't go outside to play. I finally had enough when my son was being held captive in our chicken pen because the rooster wouldn't let him out. With my husband gone for the week, it was up to me! I was not going to wait until he got home! Neither was I going to try and capture this crazy rooster either.
I'd never butchered a chicken before, and didn't plan on starting with this one, only because, I expected to shoot it! I was acting in a rage of fury. I went to our gun safe, and in a mess of anger and hot rage, I mistakingly grabbed an airgun, instead of the AR-15 I had planned on using because it had a scope I needed to use. I got it outside, squatted down on my porch, to get everything set up and was instantly confused. This didn't look like the gun I had practiced with previously?! In frustration, I call my husband using Facetime to get his help to use this darn gun. I can only imagine the humor he found in seeing I had mistaken an air rifle with an AR-15. I was still too angry to care. This rooster was going to die! No more would my kids be attacked and scared to play in their own yard. My husband was no help; the only advice he was offering was to wait until he got home. He was continually telling me that shooting him was no way to do it.
So, I hung up and ignored, as best I could, the constant phone calls that followed. I finally was so mad, I grabbed my handgun and went for it! I unloaded my whole magazine, slowly chasing after this animal that felt my fury and was keeping a good distance away from me. I could quickly see that my handgun wasn't going to do it. I went back to the house, a little calmer after releasing some aggression by firing my pistol. I found the proper gun I was wanting to use and was able to shoot the bird. I thought I had killed it. By this time, it was getting quite dark. I had to wait until the morning to find him in my holler.
Morning came, I found him easily because he was in the pen with the hens. Now, very docile, I was able to pick him up. I was sad that he hadn't died. I didn't want him to suffer. I discovered that I had pretty much only nicked him. I now had to go into the house and look up how to butcher a chicken properly. I've been reading up on the butchering of all animals, deer, rabbit, and chickens. But I needed a refresher; I didn't want to mess this up. Nerves and excitement were rushing over me. I was going to process my first animal!! Would I be able to do it? Did I have what it took to take a life with my bare hands, in such a personal way and then remove the feathers and take the guts out? I had always wondered. Now I was going to find out.
I grab my purple kitchen dish gloves from under my kitchen counter, pick up the rooster, pet him, love him, tell him I'm sorry and try to explain my reasoning to an animal that doesn't understand nor cares. Knowing deep inside, this petting, loving and sweet talking is more for my own mental state and comfort. I lay him down on a tall tree stump, pick up the knife of choice, access the layout of where I plan to strike in relation to where my fingers are, to ensure I don't take them off in the process, and in the most forceful way I could manage, I take a sharp whack at his neck. I think I did a pretty good job, but I act quickly and cut his neck clean off and breathe a sigh of relief as his head hits the ground. I keep my hands firmly on him because I know chickens convulse and flap around for a while after death. I bring him to the edge of the stump to allow the blood to flow down.
I did it. I felt sad, and proud at the same time. It was a huge right of passage that told me what I needed to know about myself. I'm capable of providing and doing whatever it takes to care for my family.
Now we're back to present day.
We have two roosters we have raised from chicks. These chicks were raised with the keets that we personally hatched out. I attribute the beautiful nature of our two current roosters to the fact that the keets, that are now Guinea Fowl are the boss of all the birds. Nameless Joe, tries his best, bless him, to be assertive, but it doesn't seem to go over well with the Guineas.
I try to be brave around the roosters but, to be honest, I'm still pretty gun shy, (no pun intended). The scars that Frank left on my youngest and I are real and deep. I've never been attacked by our current roosters, but I'm nervous at every encounter. Trying my best to send out positive, loving vibes to combat the terror I feel. Do roosters smell fear? I don't know, but I do my best to send them loving, peaceful energy.
I must say, I think it works, and today is possible proof. I wanted to help my rooster be free from his entanglement. I could see there was no way he could get free without help. I tried to slowly pick him up, with no luck. I feel he knew I was trying to help him, but he couldn't fight his instinct to keep moving away from me. I took some chicken feed and placed it in an area of our pen that would limit his fleeing and make it easier for me to pick him up. It all worked out perfectly!
I couldn't believe it!!! Inside I'm freaking out. I caught a rooster, and he's not freaking out! Wahoo!! I tried to untangle the garbage with the one hand I had free but wasn't able to. I knew I needed to get to the house and get scissors, and possibly some help from my oldest son. I now needed to make the walk back to my house, some 200+ feet away with a huge rooster in one hand, and a basket of eggs in the other. If this rooster decided he was done being held at any point, so help us all, there would be scrambled eggs all over my driveway.
I'm very excited and nervous. Once again, I do my soothing self talk to Nameless Joe and myself. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm going to get you all fixed up; It's okay" I get in my house, set the eggs down, and pray he doesn't get upset by being in a strange setting and soon have an angry rooster flapping around my home.
All goes well, I grab our
This is Nameless Joe, after his ordeal. I wish I had the confidence to have taken a picture while I was holding him. But taking a picture for this blog was the last thing on my mind at the moment.
Freeing his leg and feeling like I made a friend was the best moment of my day! I love my animals. It makes me happy when I'm able to care for them in special ways.
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