Why this blog?
Until this moment I have been forced to listen while media and politicians alike have told me "what Canadians think". In all that time they never once asked.
This is just the voice of an ordinary Canadian yelling back at the radio -
"You don't speak for me."
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What They Say About SDA
"Smalldeadanimals doesn't speak for the people of Saskatchewan" - Former Sask Premier Lorne Calvert
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Holy hell, woman. When you send someone traffic, you send someone TRAFFIC.My hosting provider thought I was being DDoSed. - Sean McCormick
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Have been considering this: don’t name my food source. And old hens make really good chicken broth.
Yeah well, this personalization of critters is a slippery slope.
Despite a close relationship with my dog….I am not it’s lover, sibling nor it’s parent.
Back during my farming phase (which was also my married phase) I was a crop/piston farmer….no livestock.
My X got the notion to raise chickens…roosters….so I refurbed an old colony house and away they went. I had duty as the AAA against hawk….Finally the roosters were slaughtered and my X had a great time selling to family and friends…..then she announced she was ordering more chicks…..get yer money I sez…huh she sez?….I sez….mind…..this time YOU buy the feed…..that’s how farmin’ works….
Interest in keepin’ chickens went poof…..
Never paid fer the shotgun shells either….oh well…that’s farmin’ and marriage for ya……got outa both….
During the years we raised chickens for the freezer, our children would chore them when they reached a certain age. We raised more than enough for our purposes and the children would get the profits, after chick and feed costs, from the ones we sold. One day the oldest, six at the time, finished choring the chickens and came in the house and asked, “Hey mom,when are we going to chop their heads off?.
Fond memories. Another fond memory was castrating weanling boars, but that is a story for another time.
@ sasquatch…laughed at your last line. Kate has to get a thumbs up thingy…some remarks are just priceless.
As a six year old I have fond memories of my Great Grandmother strolling out into her backyard chicken coop, coming out with a couple of hens under her arms, simultaneously grasping each one around the neck and at the same time swinging them both skyward in a winding motion until their heads came off in her hand and their torsos fell to the ground, where they proceeded to scramble sightlessly about the yard for a few minutes until they ran out of blood. Then I got to help pluck them. Good eating and sweet times!
We raised chickens a while back. When it came time to chop their heads off, I still remember the look in the chicken’s eye; they knew the end was coming.