Off to Slaughter

My fifty meals actually ended up being twenty-eight.  I nearly lost half the amount I started with.  Considering the hatchery probably gave me an extra two, the loss was much, much greater than I anticipated.  Obviously.  Just in the last week, the chicks were beginning to kill each other.  I found five dead bodies inside the chicken tractor and run.  I knew I had to get them slaughtered before I lost any more.  The day before you have to starve the birds.  I was terrified to find a massacre inside the greenhouse where I had locked them up the day before slaughter.  I mean these birds were out for themselves.  I had heard that about buying only male chicks but of course I hadn't heard that until after I had brought them home.  

But anyway, I am pleased to report I only loss one overnight.  Pretty good odds I think.  When I dropped them off at the slaughterhouse, I had to wait my turn before my chicks were put on the hanging hooks that carried them off upside to their death.  I watched a batch before mine go through the assembly line and noticed three things.  Those birds were super quiet and looked as if they were sleeping long before their throats were slit.  Second, they were nearly grey from filth.  And third they were fairly small.  I was worried my chicks hadn't reached full weight and was going to ask the workers at the slaughterhouse if they looked big enough but one glance at the other chickens being slaughtered and I didn't have to.  Mine were nice and big roasters.  

When it was finally my chickens turn I noticed how much of a fight they put up--even after having their throats slit.  Turning to the woman who unloaded them from their crates and transported them to the hanging hooks, I said kind of embarrassed, "They're a bit frisky aren't they.  Sorry about that.  Are most birds like this?"

She shook her head and said, "These birds are happy birds...you must have pasture raised them."

One of the differences I wanted to make in my way of farming was that I wanted these animals who would one day provide me and my family with food, a respectful and happy life when alive.  So as they went off to slaughter kicking, screeching and biting I know that's because they had not lived a comatose life, numb to sunshine, grass, worms and bugs and all the other things that make chickens happy.  They lived happy and contented little lives, while albeit short was good while it lasted.