Saturday morning, Richard was at the door with the chicken in one hand and a machete in the other. Like many local people, he doesn't knock on the door, he just stands there and waits for someone to notice. (The front door is wire-reinforced frosted glass). The chicken was still breathing and had all its feathers.
I opened the door and he asked for a knife and water. Fortunately, I know that boiling water makes the feathers easier to pull out, so I understood why he needed the water. It's not like he said--could I please have a sharp knife and some boiling water. He doesn't speak that much English. He just said--"Knife, water," held up the chicken and smiled. I got the knife and started the tea kettle.
Two little kids who live on campus were following him--I guess witnessing the chicken being butchered was their morning entertainment--better than Saturday morning cartoons.
Richard went out back and took care of business. I took him the water when it had boiled and he was already half done. I boiled some more and he finished the job.
I was going to roast the chicken last night, but we didn't have any electricity and the oven is electric, so we will have chicken for supper when Bry'Chell gets home from her first day of the new school year. It's either going to be chicken and mashed potatoes or chicken fajitas. I might go for the fajitas since that will involve taking the chicken off the bone. It will look less like the original animal which may be a good thing for Bry'Chell.
Bry'Chell has actually threatened to become vegetarian. I doubt that she will, but I wouldn't object. I tend to think it's good to understand where your food comes from. I'm as much of a city kid as anyone, but I figure if you're going to eat meat it is helpful to understand that it doesn't originate in a Saran wrapped package at Jewel.
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