When I was a mere six years old my dad hired a neighbor to kill our 50 or so roosters. We lived near an Indian Reservation in OK and the man was of Native American Heritage. I remember his long grey hair twisted in a neat braid. His brown skin was wrinkled with age and his body was honed as thin as his axe. His knife was sharp and I was horrified at the act of slaughter.
I watched him from behind the well house as he systematically chopped off the heads of the roosters. Amidst all the panicked crowing the old fellow gently picked a bird out of a cage. He'd carefully hold the flapping rooster near his chest for a moment to allow it to calm down. He spoke softly as he lay now quiet bird across the stump. Whack! The head would come off and he handed the bird to his son who held it up to allow it to bleed out. Then the wife would take it to scald and pluck it.
A horrifying sight for a child of six. The wife saw me watching and nodded to her husband who invited me over. Although I wanted to run I somehow managed to stand before him.
"Do know why I'm doing this?" he asked.
"Dad paid you," I replied trying not to look at the blood splattered across his hands, t-shirt and blue jeans.
"I'm doing this because I'm hungry," he said. "I have to eat. I know this appears brutal but this is how I live."
"Why do you talk to the rooster then chop off his head?" I wanted to know.
"I'm thanking him for allowing me to live. I'm thanking him for giving up his body to nourish mine. Always show respect for the life you must take. I will thank each rooster for giving up its life so my family may eat." He selected another rooster. "I make sure my axe is sharp, my aim is true so the bird will not suffer. To show respect I will not waste any part of this bird."
I returned to my position behind the well house.
This happened to me back in the early 60's. I've never forgotten the gentle manner in which the roosters were handled. The quiet voice followed by a flash of the axe. The loud crowing faded to silence and the job was done. True to his word not a speck of the slaughter was visible. All feathers were gone. The heads were gone and the ground was raked over with lime. He was gone, the roosters were gone, and for some strange reason I returned to the spot and look around.
To this day I will not slaughter a chicken, duck or any fowl. The animals I do slaughter I treat with kindness and respect because it's the right thing to do.
