I'm the Henry Ford of Chickens

This weekend we butchered another few of the chickens - five roosters and a hen with spraddle leg. Spraddle leg - it's like hip displaysia in birds. The poor thing couldn't walk, and so couldn't eat or drink. She was half the size of the rest of the birds - not just her muscle bulk, but her bone mass as well. It could have been in part because she was female (the males bulk up faster), but her bones seemed so thin and brittle in comparison to the other birds. She spent her last week in a box in the garage where she had easier access to food and water, and where the other chickens couldn't pick on her.

This time, we had the stump at one end of the porch, then the camp stove with the vat of water for scalding. Next to that were two butcher block tables - one for picking and one for cleaning. This time, with three of us, the whole six chickens took under two hours, and I wasn't exhausted this time as I've been in the past. Filthy, yes, but able to go on and sweep the porch and walk of dead leaves and burn them.

I do have to say that these cornish cross chickens are HUGE. Each one was so large that we were unable to fit it into a gallon-sized ziploc bag without cutting off the legs and putting them into a separate bag. The legs alone weighed more than two pounds, and I would estimate that the entire chicken dressed out at more than 6 pounds. We're going to buy another 25 of them, but not until the end of the summer. I'd like to be able to go out for a couple of nice weekends before we go through the whole baby chick process again. We didn't end up going camping at all last summer, and I'd like to be able to do it this summer.