My Experience with Death

We sent 58 birds to the freezers yesterday. It took all day to kill, cut, and clean the two-year-old layers that inhabited the F2 pen.

I don't know how to explain how I felt during the blood bath. I don't think I have prayed that much in a long time. My head swam as my thoughts try to order themselves. I have always eaten meat, it is what I do, but I had never fully understood the depth of that choice until this moment, and it all came rushing up at once. The arguments for and against, the stories I’ve heard, the books I have read. Yet, none of it made sense, so I cut, that is what you do, you cut.

It is a strange thing taking a life so personally. I am standing there, in a slatted room, with a chicken in one hand, a knife in the other, my skin trying to crawl off my back, and a queasy feeling in my stomach. Butchering puts you face to face with your eating habits, shows you the cost of your life on earth, and questions your disconnected notions about food and where it comes from. Rationally I understand that in order that I may eat meat an actual animal has to sacrifice its life. Emotionally though, as the bird and I make eye contact, there is a deep regret. At this point I just tell the bird in a soothing voice that it will be over soon. I have been repeating this phrase as a sort of mantra all day as we caught the birds in their pen, transported them to the slaughterhouse, and pulled their compatriots one by one out of the crate.

The first round of chickens were the hardest. At ARI we do not chop of the head or wring the neck, instead we slice the jugular veins in order to bleed out the bird and minimize the damage to the meat. They say that it is humane, and the birds don't actually feel much. I don't believe them. Once the cuts are made (a process that involves inserting a blade into the neck behind the airway and severing the jugular veins along the neck bone) the birds are turned upside down and put into a metal funnel to allow them to bleed out. There is usually some "involuntary" muscle contractions as the bird’s body comes to terms with its fate. After some time we move them into hot water then a de-feathering contraption before plucking and butchering the rest of what is now very definitely a carcass. At the end we have something that looks very much like what you would find in your local grocery store.

By the end of the day I was drained. I had not realized how emotionally demanding the whole process was until it was over. I ambled up the hill to my dorm where I laid in my hammock for several minutes collecting my thoughts, pondering life and my place in the grand scheme. I was surprised by how often my thoughts turned to God during this process. It seemed that I was in a state of constant prayer, trying to come to terms with our entwined fates, the chicken that would be my dinner. Two days later, I am still processing my thoughts.

I don’t like to write stories that are sad or discouraging. I don’t want you to think that I am sad or miserable. I just wanted to share my experience, that you might see more clearly what I see, and understand more fully my experiences. Thank you for taking the time to walk with me in my journey. I hope that you are well fed and happy. Peace and Love.

Mike