Mike’s son Bradley and I were discussing butchering. His grandfather butchers every winter and fills their freezer with meat for the year. It’s a subject that he and I have in common. He always goes out and helps his Pop. I remember doing the same when I was young.
We were having the conversation while I was driving him to a birthday party. He was in the front seat and his younger sister and older brother were in the back. I told him “I do remember having a freezer full of meat always. But if we got tired of beef or deer, we would kill a chicken for dinner sometimes.”
He noted that he hadn’t experienced that, although he’d heard stories. Based on the stories, he thought he’d enjoy it.
I laughed and told him “Well, the first time a chicken with it’s head cut off ran at you and squirted blood all over you, you might just change your mind.”
As I laughed, the little girl’s voice in the back seat joined the conversation. “But, if their heads are cut off, how do they see where they are going?” That took a little time to explain.
I was spoiled, having two male children. Somehow, I remember their questions being easier than hers.
