And that’s the end of the Araucana adventure.

I was going to do both of them yesterday, but frankly ran out of time. I’m still not very fast at this. Anyway, though that’s true it’s only my excuse: I really, really don’t enjoy doing this. It’s why I never got into hunting. I like the prep and the tramping and the strategy, but hate the killing and the butchering. But if you’re gonna eat meat, and stores aren’t an option, then suck it up like a good hermit.

Anyway, I was laying in bed this morning listening to the Last of the Araucanas yodeling, not wondering whether I should kill him but only thinking about recipes. I decided I’ve stewed them and roasted them but I’ve never yet fried one. That meant I could skin this one rather than plucking him which meant, happily, that I didn’t need to screw around with Landlady’s enormous stock pot. Seriously, if I’m going to do this regularly I need a reasonably-sized stock pot. I could practically bathe in the one Landlady brought up.

In no hurry to begin the festivities, I sipped coffee and surfed on the ‘pooter for a while. Then I loaded the .22 and went outside. And damned if #2 didn’t practically meet me at the door. I guess he got tired of being in the garden enclosure by himself, so he figured he’d hang out with the hens while he waited for me to get my act together. Unlike yesterday, the ladies weren’t all in a tizzy over it so I never heard any commotion.

I really didn’t want the ladies to witness me executing one of their kind, so I tried shooing him away from the Fortress but he was having none of it. And my exertions were only making things worse. Finally he jumped the drainage ditch and ran behind a juniper. He seemed to think he’d really done me in the eye, and he looked out through a gap in the branches and I swear he said “Neener Neener.”

Actually it was more like Neener Ne…” because that’s exactly what I wanted him to do. It was the sweetest shot and the quickest kill I ever made, straight through a juniper. Gad, I love my new eyes. He’s cooling in Ian’s fridge now, and I plan to cut him up and fry him in a nice crust of egg and flour later on.
A word on tools: You want to see one of my very favorite knives? It’s the damndest thing…Well over ten years ago I sent two of my best to this guy in Georgia for Kydex sheaths, right? And he forgot all about me for like six weeks, and when I wrote about it he sent me the sheaths and this little Victorinox by way of apology. And I’m all like, “What am I supposed to do with a paring knife?” But damned if that little sliver hasn’t become one of the two kitchen tools I never lose track of. It takes an edge like a scalpel. Very useful.
Mr. “I’m so very cool” Ghost always becomes such a drama queen when I kill a chicken. It can’t be a sanctity of life thing, he killed a dozen of Ian’s pullets for laughs one evening. But he really seems to hate it when I do it.

Doesn’t seem to mind my cooking them up and sharing them out, though. He’s right there for me when I do that.