Killing Chickens: A Personal Journey

If you’re squeamish or vegetarian, skip to the end or check back with us tomorrow for another fresh post.

I can’t say I’m exactly proud of it, but it feels like an accomplishment. For a while, I’ve been talking about how I want to take responsibility for my decision to eat meat by personally killing the chickens from my coop, rather than having them magically appear in my kitchen, ready to cook. It took me a year to muster the courage to kill my first chicken. We’ve only eaten a few from our initial flock because the heavy rains slowed down egg production, and we wanted to ensure the next generation of hens was laying eggs before we culled the older ones. Out of the 10 hens we started with, 4 died of unknown causes and a wild animal got another, leaving us with just 5 adults.

The first one to go was “the little black one” because she was aggressive. Our handyman did the job while I watched and learned. There are two main methods to kill a chicken: the first is using a machete to decapitate it, causing a bloodbath but possibly less suffering for the animal. The second method is to wring its neck until it breaks, which requires strength and nerves of steel. We opted for the latter. Watching the little black one die wasn’t as hard since I never liked her much anyway.

A week later, it was my turn. My boyfriend, who enjoys challenging me, said it was the perfect day to kill not just one but the remaining four old hens, as they were no longer laying eggs and were just freeloaders. He suggested we could freeze the meat. I went from a novice to an experienced killer in one day.

I started with Lunch, one of the first hens in the coop, along with Breakfast and Dinner. Dinner had already died from illness. I liked Lunch and didn’t want her to suffer. I grabbed her legs, put her head down, and started pulling on her neck to kill her. I thought I had succeeded, but the handyman told me she wasn’t dead. I pulled again, still no success. It was agonizing to see her suffer. Finally, the handyman finished the job for me and explained that you need to pull steadily for about a minute to tear the nerves apart.

I managed to kill the next two hens myself, but it was tough since I’d lived with these animals for a year. To make it easier emotionally, none of the next generation of chickens will get names.

After killing the hens, you need to dunk them in a bucket of boiling water to loosen the feathers for plucking. This is a tedious and smelly job. The head should stay down to let the blood drain. Once plucked, you can remove the head and clean out the blood. Then, you cut around the rectum to pull out the intestines, which is the most unpleasant part. You can also retrieve the heart, liver, kidneys, and throat for eating, but they need to be cleaned properly. Lastly, you cut around the neck to remove the food sack. After another clean, the chicken is ready to cook.

The Cost of Eating Your Own Chickens

Running a chicken coop isn’t cheap. We haven’t had eggs for a while due to cold weather and a disease affecting the village. Luckily, our hens were vaccinated before we went to Europe, so none died. Still, we spend $40 a month on chicken feed with no eggs in return.

A free-range hen or rooster costs $12-$15 locally. We can make soup from one that lasts for a few days, but there isn’t a lot of meat on these chickens compared to the larger, hormone-fed ones from industrial farms. Over the past four months, we’ve spent $160 on feed with five hens and five roosters to show for it. This is more expensive than buying chickens but it’s only viable when the hens are laying eggs.

During the productive months, we get free eggs and more chicks. Our investment grew, expanding to 40 animals from an initial 10, but high feed costs mean we’re only breaking even without consistent egg production.

The Cost of Eating a Village Pig

We’ve also started buying whole pigs from the village, having our handyman and his girlfriend process them into meat for us. Pork costs $3 a pound at the butcher, and you can’t be sure of its origin. Village pigs are usually healthier since they roam and eat naturally.

We bought an adult pig for $75 and had it processed by the couple, agreeing to pay $60 for 20 pounds of meat. The remaining half of the pig brings them an additional $60 in sales, minus $15 to adjust the live purchase price. They end up with $45 profit, which is a decent payday locally. They also keep the head, liver, heart, kidneys, and make chicharrones from the skin, further adding to their earnings.

For us, it’s not just about the money. We get better quality meat, the best cuts, and help our employees earn extra cash.

Would You Kill Your Own Meat or Go Vegetarian?

Would you take on the responsibility of killing your own meat, or would you prefer to be a vegetarian? This experience has certainly given me a new perspective on what it means to consume meat.