Adventures in Motherhood: The Freshest Chicken Nuggets Ever

So a few things about me.  First, I don't love chickens.  My kids love chickens and will pack them around like they are little kittens or puppies, but they freak me out.  Last Spring we were gifted some chickens and as long as the kids were willing to feed them and keep them gathered and cared for I have been good with it.  It was actually nice having fresh eggs every morning and I was feeling very country wife.  Second, I don't love killing animals.  My dad doesn't have any boys and he had this yearning desire to be able to share his love of hunting with his kids.  I went through hunter's ed. and went hunting with him for several years and even shot a deer or two, but every time I killed an animal it killed a little piece of my soul too.  Now, I'm not against hunting, not at all.  It serves a very useful purpose and I enjoyed the deer jerky growing up.  I just don't love being the one who pulls the trigger.

Now that you know those two things about me, you will know why this particular Adventure in Motherhood haunted my dreams for days!  A while back our chickens who were so adept at laying eggs got a piece of a broken egg and decided, "Hey, eggs taste pretty good!" and from there they went on strike.  If they laid an egg they were going to eat them themselves.  So now we were feeding 8 chickens, paying for the feed, housing them, and getting no benefit whatsoever.

Zac and I had talked before about how self sufficient we felt keeping chickens knowing that in an emergency we could eat those buggers, but never actually taking the time to learn how to kill and process them.  Well, we happen to have an 11-year old son right now.  Ian is very much boy.  He loves to shoot his gun and has an instinct to hunt.  He decided to help me out with my chicken problem one day and took his .22 rifle (with permission from Zac and I) and took out the biggest egg eater.  I saw that poor dead chicken and didn't want it's life to be wasted and decided that maybe we should learn to process and eat poor little Freckles, or Speckles, or whatever it's name was.  So Ian and I locked ourselves in a room away from the little kids and watched some very graphic You Tube videos on how to kill and butcher chickens.  I was dry heaving the whole time vowing I would not be involved but wished Ian the best of luck with that project and sent him on his way.  but then decided five minutes later that he probably did need some parental guidance and I should probably put on my big girl pants and learn how to do this too... so I went out and tried to pluck the chicken.  It smelled SOOOOO bad, like a wet dog.  And the sensation of pulling out the feathers was just... ugggghhhh...  Ian wanted to do the carving, so I let him have at it.  However, I don't think we were supposed to shoot it and I got nervous that we may have punctured organs and ruined meat.  So I just had him carve off the breast pieces that weren't touched by the bullet as best as he could.

When all was said and done, we had enough meat for three chicken nuggets.  I breaded them and fried them and Ian, Charlotte, Bronson, and I all tried them.... Charlotte and Bronson could not be kept away from this project by the way.  They were both so fascinated and wanted to be very involved.  We did lock Whitlee and Josie in the house however with some My Little Pony running to keep them thinking happy thoughts.

The meat was so tough and unnaturally chewy, though Ian ate every last bite because that is what you don when you are a mighty hunter.  Later talking to neighbors and friends I have realized that you are actually supposed to stew laying hens and use the meat in stew... not chicken nuggets.

Not likely going to happen for me any time soon as even writing this post gives me the heebie jeebies.  Next time it will be Zac's turn!  But the chickens have been warned.  They have now seen what happens to egg eaters, so hopefully we never have to kill and eat those suckers again!