I just have to tell you!
My ol' roo, Skip (hence my username) was an Ancona. He was calm and gentle. Until I had to keep him confined for the winter.
Then he lost his mind.
I introduced three new birds and he attacked them. Viciously. They still have the scars. Anyway, I had to wait until they all got up to roost before trying to catch Skip, because he was so darn fast. They were all on the roost, and I made a grab for Skip's legs. Caught him! He made quite a fuss, flapping his wings furiously, crowing his head off.
I tried to move him into a new enclosure, but he escaped, and started tormenting our other roosters. I couldn't catch Skip again, so I put out a bowl of water and waited. And waited.
Skip lounged around all day, running in circles, until he finally went to the water bowl. I was ready with a shotgun. A clean head shot, I'm very proud of myself. I caught him, slit his throat, bled him out, and brought him in to scald.
After he was scalded and plucked (it was amazing how skinny he was without the feathers. I expect it was because he was an Ancona.) I carefully took out the crop and windpipe, cut off the head and feet and the oil gland. I made the eviscerating cut, and started pulling out the innards. I was amazed I wasn't disgusted. It seemed perfectly natural to me. I broke a lung by accident, but everything else went fine, save one thing:
The airway still worked after I was dead, so if I pushed down hard on little Skip's chest, he would squeak! I thought that was hilarious.
Had him for dinner later that night. The smell of rooster was still all over him, and after spending two hours in cold, 40 degree, wet-handed hell, I wasn't very keen on sticking some of that strong-smelling meat in my mouth. But I did it, and it was DELICIOUS!
Best chicken I ever ate, and it wasn't even the best it could be. I think slaving away for the two hours in cold, pouring rain made it taste even better.
~Skip
My ol' roo, Skip (hence my username) was an Ancona. He was calm and gentle. Until I had to keep him confined for the winter.
Then he lost his mind.
I introduced three new birds and he attacked them. Viciously. They still have the scars. Anyway, I had to wait until they all got up to roost before trying to catch Skip, because he was so darn fast. They were all on the roost, and I made a grab for Skip's legs. Caught him! He made quite a fuss, flapping his wings furiously, crowing his head off.
I tried to move him into a new enclosure, but he escaped, and started tormenting our other roosters. I couldn't catch Skip again, so I put out a bowl of water and waited. And waited.
Skip lounged around all day, running in circles, until he finally went to the water bowl. I was ready with a shotgun. A clean head shot, I'm very proud of myself. I caught him, slit his throat, bled him out, and brought him in to scald.
After he was scalded and plucked (it was amazing how skinny he was without the feathers. I expect it was because he was an Ancona.) I carefully took out the crop and windpipe, cut off the head and feet and the oil gland. I made the eviscerating cut, and started pulling out the innards. I was amazed I wasn't disgusted. It seemed perfectly natural to me. I broke a lung by accident, but everything else went fine, save one thing:
The airway still worked after I was dead, so if I pushed down hard on little Skip's chest, he would squeak! I thought that was hilarious.
Had him for dinner later that night. The smell of rooster was still all over him, and after spending two hours in cold, 40 degree, wet-handed hell, I wasn't very keen on sticking some of that strong-smelling meat in my mouth. But I did it, and it was DELICIOUS!
Best chicken I ever ate, and it wasn't even the best it could be. I think slaving away for the two hours in cold, pouring rain made it taste even better.
~Skip
