In Honor of Jingle Bells

Yesterday, our family got a little dose of reality to the cycle of life when it comes to raising farm animals. We had our first casualty after a year and a half, 19 chickens, 2 goats, 2 cats and 1 dog. I have to say, I'm pretty proud of that. If we can keep them alive, not to mention two kids (one of whom has back-ups for her back-up guardian angel), hopefully we can raise just about anything else that Austin comes up with. 

We arrived home from two days out of town to discover that our young rooster (cockerel) Moe Jr., who has the raging hormones of a 13 year old boy, has not quite perfected the art of mating gently and had injured one of our original birds who my daughter had fondly named Jingle Bells.




Austin separated her from the rest of the chickens so we could bandage her up, thinking it was only a minor surface wound or puncture. We discovered a huge gash hidden under her wing and quickly realized that she had no chance of surviving without a several hundred dollar vet bill and intensive care from us as she recovered.









Once the decision was made, I ushered the girls inside to unpack and save them the mental image of Jingle Bells' last moments (and thousands of dollars in therapy) while Austin started preparing for his first time butchering a chicken. I responded to questions like, "What is it like in chicken heaven?" (I mean really, how do you answer that one?), while the girls prayed for God to heal their chicken and Austin got his tools together.



He had been outside for a quite awhile, and I had assumed he must be close to finishing when I heard a knock on the front door. There was Austin, searching for Jingle Bells who had apparently seen a chance for escape and took it! 20 minutes later, he tracked her down in the tobacco field next to our house. She apparently had one last thing to complete from her bucket list before she was ready to see the light.

 After Austin had completed the task, he brought her inside to finish cleaning her up. I totally wasn't anticipating eating her. She was a laying bird after all (meat birds are completely different breeds and are butchered at a much younger age), but Austin insisted that the best way to honor her life is to make her useful rather than discarding her. Apparently laying birds can be eaten, but must be prepared differently.







Austin finished cleaning the bird and placed the meat in the fridge. I originally put "Jingle Bells" on the menu for this week, but decided to transfer her to the freezer instead. It's just a little too soon....

So, in honor of Jingle Bells, one of our first birds and a great mama hen to our first round of baby chicks: we will salute you with some chicken stew this winter. And I will no longer be naming any more chickens. :)