Trauma

It all started with a chicken. A dead, featherless (almost), cold, kinda stinky, chicken. I used to buy chicken breasts, without the bone, because I like the ease of just sticking one in the oven without much work, like the snipping of organs and ligaments. However, all the stores have gone on a boneless chicken breast strike and there are none to be found. So, a few weeks ago I ventured out and bought a whole chicken, with the promise from some stranger's blog that it can be dumped into a crock pot, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and left to cook all day. Ta-da! Lots of chicken meat with little work. Well, the first time I did this, it turned out alright, except after it was cooked I realized there must have been organs in the cavity because it was quite reddish brown and there was some mushy, yucky stuff in there. So, this morning, as I'm taking the bird out of the fridge to throw in said pot, I decide to work on removing the organs from the cavity- must like dissecting a frog, I promise myself (which was never a big deal to me). However, as I unwrap the legs, I see something unexpected inside. Now, I know there are many of you out there who have killed chickens, bought whole chickens with the same dilemma, or lived in a third world country and have dealt with this, but it was all new to me. Yes, I've lived almost 30 years without encountering such a sight. Back to the bird. As I unwrap the legs, I find that someone has done me the favor of also shoving long claws down there.

Big legs, with big nails- huge. I pull one out and immediately drop it on the counter- I'm pretty sure I saw a toe twitch. I yell to Natty, who is hovering above the kitty's food bowl, contemplating disobeying me again by playing in the water. She seems to get a kick out of my disgust. I pull out the other leg and it drops to the floor...I yelp a little. I pick it up before it has time to grab me and put both legs on a Bran Flakes box.
I'll just leave those there for Scotty to find when he comes into the kitchen, I decide. At this point, my heart is beating a little faster than normal but I calm down upon remembering my new kitchen shears and how much less disgusting the organs seem. Out come the shears and into the cavity they go. Snipping brown things and a heart and some stringy stuff and trying to scoop it all out with a spoon. Now I decide that the big stuff is out and it might be helpful to rinse out the inside of this poor, dead creature. I take it in the plastic bag over to the sink, run some water in it and pull it the rest of the way out of the bag. As I'm pulling, I notice a long, dangly thing at the other end. What is this strangeness, I wonder? Then it hits me, like a blow to the stomach. I see dead eyes, and a beak. No, it can't be...it's a long neck...and...the head! At this point I drop the bird into the sink, yell, like a little girl, and encourage Natty to come with me. I'm feeling a little queasy and wondering how I'm going to dispatch the head and neck of this thing. That means cutting or hacking my way through tubes and flesh and I don't know what else. It's all too much to handle at 7:30 in the morning. Scotty seems concerned at the screaming and inquires about what is going on. I explain my predicament and demand that he do something about it, immediately. Natty comes crawling in whimpering, a bit confused as to why her mommy is screaming. In a few minutes, the bird is taken care of, thanks to my brave husband, and I am cutting off skin, but looking at dinner in a way I never have before.

Can I actually eat this thing now that I've seen it looking so much like a dead animal? A dead animal that I butchered? Ick.