I murdered my first chickens. Five beautiful Ancona roosters. They had become the gestapo of the flock and scared them all to death whenever I let them mingle. They were hilarious too though. Would line up and staulk the neighbors' dogs and cats and chase them out of the yard. But, I only have one Ancona hen and knew they'd only get more aggressive so they had to go. I processed two the other day and my hubbie thought I'd done very well but later in the day I bawled my head off. Today I processed the last three and so far, so good. I think I may have some of my grandmother's DNA in me after all (she raised hundreds of chickens and worked in a poultry house earning a penny for each chicken she cleaned).