To Kill a Yardbird

Warning: The following post contains information that may not be for the faint of heart. No images, and I think it's work safe, but the squeamish have been warned.

Tomorrow many of you will be eating turkey. Most of you will probably buy him at the grocery store (fun fact: most of these birds have all white feathers and breasts so big they can hardly walk), some will get one of the smaller and often more flavor and humanely treated heritage turkeys, and (raise of hands?) just maybe some of you will cook up a bird who lived on a farm and was slaughtered by someone you know.

That last one is what this point is about. This happened a year ago, so I'm digging back into the depths of my memory. Last fall I was the teaching assistant for a class on food biochem. Unlike most food sci classes, where you spend half a semester on water, we did things that related to actual food, and our labs resulted in things we could eat. As a whole, the class decided that we wanted to cook a turkey for a Thanksgiving class. Our logical place to start was one of the turkeys walking around my school's farm center.

I'm going to say this, and I offer no apology if it sounds harsh. If you are going to eat meat, you must be able to watch an animal be killed and be at peace with it. I respect whatever choices people make about what to eat, and any reason they give is good enough for me. Just understand that what you eat (even if it's a plant) was once a living being and should be respected as such.

Now, back to the turkey. That morning he was walking around doing bird things, and around noon when the class started we waited out by a shed near the barn where they milked the cows. We mostly just watched as some students who worked on the farm did the hard work. One of the had experience working in a slaughterhouse. Anyway, they held the bird by one legs, and he was perfectly calm. Kind of like how grabbing a cat by the scruff is a kitty off switch, I guess holding a bird upside down by the leg is a poultry off switch.

When they were ready, they put him in a grain bag with a corner cut off and slit his throat. He flapped around, ripped the bag open, and then just stopped. He threw around a lot of blood, but I feel like I've seen more from witnessing medical emergencies.

The only part I actually participated in was de-feathering the bird, and I can also say that was the only part that made me feel at all disturbed. The bird was still warm, and he smelled very...birdy. Luckily, with a small swarm of college students, we made quick work of that step.

After he was feathered, he had to be dressed out. One of the student who worked in a slaughterhouse took care of this step. She was able to make an incision in the lower abdomen, work her way up inside the body cavity, cut it at the esophagus, and take out everything in one go. Aside from prep and cooking, that was about it.

Now, how do I feel about seeing a turkey dispatched? I still don't know exactly. It was odd, and that's about the most I can say. One minute, the bird was flapping around, the next he was dead. What I do know is I'm alright with what I saw. I'm alright with the fact that a turkey gave his life to feed me. No matter what your eat tomorrow, I ask that you also take a moment to thank any lives--animal, plant and microbe--that feed you.