Urban Farming

My Tinder date slaughtered a chicken

I matched with Andrew on Tinderand built first contact.

His photos included no fewer than two farm animals and a quotation from The Magic School Bus’s Ms. Frizzle, which built it easy to swipe right. I initially messaged him about the goat in one of his photos, but the conversation soon turned to his four egg-laying hens identified after Dorothy, Blanche, Rose, and Sophia from the Golden Girls .

“Dorothy turned out to be a dude so hes gonna “re going to have to” get eaten. The neighborhood doesnt take kindly to roosters. Were having a chicken dinner in March. Sorry Dorothy, ” Andrew wrote to me.

Its not that uncommon to get a astonish rooster in your henhouse. Chickens are difficult to sex at birth, so sometimes experts even get mixed up, according to Forbes .

Definitely not a hen. Cynthia McKelvey

I didnt expect it then, talking to Andrew on Tinder, but I would eventually be one of the people to be with Dorothy in the final times of his life.

I should note that Andrew did not suggest the notion of watching him and his roommate, Colin, butcher Dorothyit was actually my notion. It was our fourth date , not our first, but still not your traditional early hangout. We had done the usual things first: go for a hike, get beverages, compile and examine microbes through some microscopes.

Initially, Colin was going to make a Tinder date of his own are some of processing Dorothy, at her proposition, and Andrew and I joked that we should make a date out of watching Colins date. But on the eve of Dorothys date with destiny, Colins date backed out.( In Colins terms, she “balked.”)

Andrew and I decided to go for the kill. I was sort of curious about the whole thing, and while Ive never killed a chicken, Im not exactly squeamish. In a previous life, when I ran in various research labs, I had to do some grisly things to swine in the name of science. And, as a meat eater, I was curious to see what it means to prepare your own foodstart to finish.

( Slaughtering your own livestock in your backyard isnt exactly legal in Oakland, California, where Andrew and Colin live. Im not disclosing their last names to protect their identity .)

The big day

I came to Andrew’s house early on Sunday morning. It was sunny and warm enough to wear sandals, policy decisions I’d afterwards regret. Andrew had on a dark-brown sweater and some grey-headed gasps. He was wearing small-minded wire-frame reading glasses while he was doing his taxes. I had never seen him in glass beforeI told him I thought they were cute in an old-timey sort of way.

I invited myself into the chicken coop with my camera to take some pictures of the chickens. After helping Colin set up for the main event, Andrew encountered me in the coop. I was struggling to get some nice photographs of Dorothy while also preventing Rose, Blanche, and Sophia from beak my bare toes. Andrew picked up Rose and showed me his favorite play play games with hergently flinging her in the various regions of the coop and letting her flutter down to the field. She came leading right back for another round. How cute, I saw, like when I’ll rub my cat’s belly for a game I like to call “scratchy bitey.”

Andrew likewise grabbed Dorothy to help me take a few photos. But soon enough, Colin said he was ready to do the deed. We handed Dorothy off to him as we exited the coop. I stood uphill of Colin to be sure I wouldn’t get splattered with any blood.

Things quieted down we watched Colin ready Dorothy on his lap. He had experience slaughtering chickens, but he had never slaughtered a rooster. He relied on YouTube to teach him what he needed to knowciting the visual guidebook as being more helpful than a written one. There he found the Chicken Lady, Alexia Allen.

( Warning, Allen’s tutorial video is graphic .)

Colin said he turned to Allens videos because of her emphasis on regarding the swine while maintaining some emotional distance.

Our nerdy flirting was cut short by Dorothy, who began to strife in Colin’s lap.

I reached out to Allen to talk to her about the ethics of growing and eventually butchering livestock. Allen herself was once a vegan, but after a particularly grueling day in her old-fashioned field biology undertaking, she couldnt say no to some beef jerky. She said her body started craving meat again, so she decided to find a way that she could nourish their own bodies with meat in a way that she could morally abide.

“The answer is, for me, to do the processing. To know what that is, to do it intimately, and to do it as well as I can, ” Allen told the Daily Dot. “I butchered my first chicken in 2002, and it took me all day.”

Now its like second nature. Allen teaches first-class on butchering chickens to her community in Washington state. She said that she is often passed chickens to butcher and devour as well if their own families keeping them cant or wont butcher the animal themselves. Allen doesnt judge people who do that, since it benefits her, and many people take on chickens as pets rather than livestock. But, when taking on any domestic swine, she mentioned, the very important to consider what happens at the end of their life.

“We dont get to decide if these swine expire, just like we dont get to decide if we expire or not. With the swine, as part of the domestication alliance, we just get to decide, if we choose to, how and when they expire, ” Allen said.

For her, the most humane, intimate, and respected way to kill a chicken involves maintaining it in her lap and slitting its jugular, letting it bled out, then interrupting its neck. Doing this is no easy stunt, she mentioned. You need to have belief, a sharp-worded blade, and a steady hand. Most of those things come with experience.

Colin, despite its own experience, still had some any problems with Dorothy. It took him a little time to find the jugular in the first place due to Dorothys extra waddlethe blood-red combing and flesh that roosters have in abundance. While he scoured for it, I decided to lighten the mood.

“Do you think dinosaurs savor like chicken? ” I requested. We tittered about the relevant recommendations, and wondered aloud if dinosaurs crowed and had waddles like roosters do. Then Andrew and I nerded out about dinosaursparticularly how you can detect their evolutionary record through the orientation of their hip.

Our nerdy flirting was cut short by Dorothy, who began to strife in Colin’s lap.

Andrew moved in to hold onto the paws, and I continued to watch. Eventually, Colin find the blood vessel, and the whole thing was over virtually instantly. Colin brushed the dull back of the knife over Dorothys throat, to aid get him used to the perception, before becoming it over and cutting his throat with one smooth stroke.

No one made a seem as Dorothys blood pattered on the field between Colins paws. With a little effort, Colin was able to click the neck.

Just before the moment of truth. Cynthia McKelvey

Then he scalded the carcass in a container of very hot water, to loosen up the featherings. The two guys went to work plucking featherings from the chicken and I mostly watched. At this point I was feeling squeamish. I was more meditating about the germs I could be uncovering myself( and my bare paws) to. I wondered if my sorenes might make me seem less chill in Andrew’s eyes.

On eating( less) meat

Colin mentioned, for him, the ethics of devouring meat are very near and dear to his heart.

“I’ve been phasing out grocery store meat for about seven years now. I used to say I would only devour meat if it was free range and organic, but I don’t feel those standards are good enough, ” he wrote to me in an email a few periods after processing Dorothy. “I’ll eat an animal if I trust it was raised and killed with care and compassion. Generally that intends I’ll eat it if it’s from a farm I’ve heard of and that is known to have high standards.”

Andrew tends to avoid meat for environmental reasons. He said he was a vegetarian for a good component of his life. Ultimately he distanced himself from vegetarianism and veganism because he doesnt think that will help the world change its devouring habits.

“Life is complicated, and complicated environmental problems arent solved with simple-minded regulations, ” he wrote to me in an email. Instead, he eats less meat. He actually advocates devouring flaws like crickets and termites, as they take fewer calories to develop and render more calories as a food compared to typical meat like beef and chicken. He hasnt get me to try them yet.

As for me, well, Im not virtually so discerning. I devour meat in most of my meals. I buy whatever chicken is cheapest in the storage, though I go for antibiotic-free when I can. Antibiotics in livestock contribute massively to antibiotic-resistant flaws, and I try not to support that. But the environmental impact of my meat habit concerns me. I escape beef principally because I dont care for it, but likewise because meat is a huge benefactor to climate change. Between the country, sea, and methane emissions resulting from the animalsparticularly beefnot to mention the ratios of calories to conjure the animal versus calories it creates, devouring meat is not a matter of the nicest things you can do for Mother Earth.

After it was all said and done, Andrew asked me if I would ever choose to exerted the knife myself.

On the other hand, small-scale farming isnt necessarily the answer. Particularly when it comes to chicken. Most chickensbackyard or notare fed with grains that had to be grown somewhere, according to the New York Times . And those grains likely is engaged in climate change in their own way, primarily through soil erosion and the deforestation required to make the fields to develop those grains in. There are alternatives, like feeding chickens on table scraps and other, more sustainable groceries, but theres merely no such thing as a free meal.

That all mentioned, its surely a lot easier to get more milage out of a single chicken if youre the one raising, slaughter, and preparing the beast. From eggs for food, to manure for fertilizer, to the meat, bones, and paws of the birdtheres a lot “youre doing with” chicken. And, when its your own, it arrives in one neat packet instead of be divided into partssome of which you might have to ask for special from your neighbourhood butcher or grocer.

Once the carcass was plucked, Colin set about to lift the internal organs and dividing the edible chips like the liver and kidneys from the non-edibles like the gall bladder. Andrew and I were playing with the paws in the submerge, tugging on the tendons to make the toes curl up. Romantic, right?

Eventually we took the skin off the paws to save them for something laterprobably broth, but maybe pickling. I took a photo of the partly de-gloved foot and Andrew and I had a long debate about the appropriate Instagram filter for such a grotesque photo. I settled on Brennan, with the tilt-shift feature focused on the center toe. Andrew would afterwards like the photo on Instagram.

Once it was all said and done, I was strangely ravenous, as was Andrew. We started to make scrambled eggs, corn, and garlic to go with some tortillas. Then we decided to throw in the towel some of the liver Colin had just pulled out from Dorothy.

That was when it odd for me, and not just because of the liver’s oily texture. Though many take more consolation in knowing where their food comes from, I had become so accustomed to my willful ignorance that it was a little fazing devouring the liver of a chicken I had just watched die less than an hour prior. Maybe I was focused on this thought because grassland, sauteed chicken liver and scrambled eggs isnt exactly gourmet.

After it was all said and done, Andrew asked me if I would ever choose to exerted the knife myself. I mentioned I probably would do it, but if someone volunteered to do the deed in my place, I wouldnt are hesitant to hand off the challenge.

Killing a chicken didnt kill the sorcery. Andrew and I went on a fifth datethis time to your more run-of-the-mill artwork museum. There are more dates in our futurethough hopefully we’ll be watching the Golden Girls while the remaining gallons enjoy their lives in Andrew’s backyard.

Photo by Cynthia McKelvey

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