Slaughtering and Processing Poultry
WITHOUT DOUBT, one of the more unpleasant realities of raising poultry is slaughtering. Even if you keep birds mainly for egg production, as we do, sooner or later this issue will come up, I promise. Because we breed our own replacement laying hens, we inevitably have more roosters than needed for the next breeding season. (Supposedly each batch of chickens hatched average out to half pullets and half cockerels.) Even if you buy replacement hens every year or two, you eventually have to decide what to do with the older hens. And because our birds free-range, we occasionally have to deal with one being injured in an accident or by a predator, or even in a pecking-order disagreement. Poultry raised on pasture also sometimes fall victim to disease or a poisonous plant.
Whatever the case, the question of slaughtering will come up at some point. Obviously, if you plan to raise some birds specifically to process as table fowl, you need to come to grips with the reality of what that means.
Which brings me to a confession: So far, I have not been able to bring myself to participate in the actual killing of a chicken or turkey (we have yet to slaughter any ducks on our farm). Yes, I do feel guilty about that. Poor David always has to do the hard part, while I deal with the unpleasant but comparatively easier tasks of scalding, plucking and packaging. I also am in charge of cooking up and canning any poultry that we don’t plan to eat fresh, such as older chickens.
Part of my reluctance to killing birds is, I am sure, due to my general squeamishness about throat things. Anything that even conjures up images like choking or the cutting of throats instantly makes me queasy. We slaughter our birds by cutting the large veins on either side of their necks with a very sharp knife. When this technique is well-executed, a chicken will hardly seem to feel a thing, and it bleeds out in just a couple of minutes. Still, I simply have not been able to get past my instinctive reaction, although I haven’t actually ever tried it. If David asked me to, I would certainly make an effort, but I have yet to volunteer.
When David slaughters a chicken or turkey, he sits on a chair, holding the bird in his lap, talking to it until it is calm and quiet. He then makes a swift, bold cut with a razor-sharp knife on either side of its neck. The whole process is carried out with as much consideration for the bird as possible. If that sounds odd, given that the bird’s life is about to end, consider this: If the chicken or turkey is shaking or seems fearful (this happens more often with turkeys), David usually lets it go and we try again another day. We both feel tremendous respect for all of our poultry, and we try hard to show that at every level of our husbandry practices. From our point of view, these beautiful animals are our partners, active participants in a process that continually sustains us and our environment. For many reasons, they deserve our best efforts to ensure they have a happy, healthy, natural existence and a painless and dignified death.
Slaughter vs. Harvest
We have often been asked why we continue to use the term “slaughter” in favor of the current trend toward using others such as “harvest” to describe the killing of farm animals raised for food. It’s a somewhat tricky question, as we don’t wish to offend anyone or seem to be passing judgment on their choice of terminology. I’ll just say that there are definite reasons we choose to say “slaughter”; please hear me out and know that I respect your choice, whatever it may be.
First, the Merriam-Webster Dictionary definitions. Harvest: (1) The act or process of gathering in a crop; (2) to gather, catch, hunt or kill (as salmon, oysters, or deer) for human use, sport, or population control. Slaughter: To kill (animals) for food.
Do you see the distinction? “Harvest,” by the second definition, is clearly referring to wild animals, those “caught” or “hunted” as opposed to those specifically raised for food. Also, we feel that using “harvest” in the context of killing chickens or turkeys for food (vaguely grouping this process with “gathering in a crop”) is frankly euphemistic.
Our position, then, is simply that we feel more comfortable using the term “slaughter.”
You may be wondering why we don’t simply chop off their heads. Many people believe that is the quickest and most pain-free way. This may be possible, but honestly, I don’t think it’s the best choice of killing methods. First of all, if you’ve ever tried to hold a live chicken or turkey in position on a chopping block or tree stump, you’ll know not only is it awkward for you, but the bird will likely struggle and be stressed and fearful. This just makes the whole process even more unpleasant for all involved.
In addition, when the head is cut off a live bird, the windpipe is obviously severed. This can result in the aspiration of blood into the body as it flaps its wings and moves even after it is dead. The aspirated blood can contaminate the meat if it isn’t drained promptly.
What it comes down to for us is that holding them upright in a normal posture and cutting their neck veins is the best way to slaughter birds in a respectful and relatively stress-free way.
The first time we slaughtered birds was a few months after we got our first chickens. Although I had done some reading on the subject, we both had very little idea of what it would be like. We were not surprised that the reality involved details that weren’t mentioned in any of the articles I had read. At the end of that first slaughter day, I couldn’t help thinking that it would have been helpful to have known some of these points.
For example, nothing I read had indicated that we should be prepared for the chicken to flap its wings energetically — after it was already dead. We were slaughtering three roosters that day, and it was incredibly stressful because we realized, right in the middle of slaughtering the first, that we had no idea how to tell if it was actually dead. It was horrible. The rooster kicked and flapped and jerked when we thought it must already be dead. We were afraid that it was suffering, and we didn’t know what to do to fix it. The only way we knew for a fact that the birds were dead was when they had bled out completely and we had removed their heads prior to scalding and plucking.
Another detail I remember about that first slaughter day was the smell of wet feathers. While I was dunking a bird’s carcass slowly up and down in the hot water of the scalding pot, I found it impossible to get away from that smell. It was nauseating. Since that day, I’ve gotten more or less used to it, however unpleasant, especially with turkeys.
I want to pass on one aspect we’ve learned about slaughtering, as I think it’s important: Find a quiet place to do this job, if at all possible out of the range of vision of other poultry. We have found that chickens and turkeys especially are instantly attracted to loose feathers and to blood. If they are allowed even momentary access to the slaughter area once the killing has begun, they will be in the way, pestering you and getting underfoot all day long.
When we have turkeys to sell before the holidays, we always let our customers know when they will be slaughtered so they know when to pick them up. We have no way of freezing large birds like turkeys, so we generally slaughter on the Monday and Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and customers pick them up on Tuesday or Wednesday. What has been surprising to us is that the customers often want to come up and help on slaughtering days. One year nearly all of our paying customers showed up to participate. Obviously, having extra hands to help is wonderful. Even Midget Whites are fairly large birds, and plucking especially can be time-consuming. And of course, the turkey slaughter happens in late November, when it’s usually good and cold outside up here in the mountains. I think it’s great that people seem to want to learn how to slaughter their own birds, and David is skilled and an excellent teacher. I feel guilty that I have always passed the buck and expected him to do the nasty part. Maybe this year will be different.