Rooster Soup

Several weeks ago we butchered one of our roosters. We procrastinated and procrastinated until finally the dynamics in the chicken coop was so unpleasant that we could no longer avoid the inevitable.
I was nervous. A friend of mine, M, volunteered to come over and help out. As soon as B got home from work he went to look for the hatchet while M and I discussed the game plan.
No hatchet was found. B thought a random big knife would do the trick, and as the sun was setting and time was running out, we agreed.
M and B cornered Mr. Rooster in the yard and M brought him over to the picnic table where I held his neck and body down.
Mr. Rooster was calm and accepting of his fate.
I said a brief prayer and turned my head as the knife made the first chop. Chop, chop, chop-"God, please let it be over!"
Finally it was done. Mr. Rooster was gone, though his body continued to twitch. It was so freaky-I asked M what we should do next, and she said "Run for the hills!" We ran across the yard, kind of in disbelief at the scene on the table.
A couple of deep breaths and I had regained my composure. I strung him up on the monkey bars to bleed out, and soon he was ready for the pot.
I dunked him in the boiling water, and then the ice water. I laid him on the kitchen floor and F helped me to pull off the feathers. It took FOREVER.
Finally, he was ready to be gutted. I took my poultry shears and cut him from top to bottom, opening him up like a mortician.
His organs were perfect. I was in awe at God's work. Everything was in its place, completely, perfectly formed. F and I took out the heart, examined the chambers and the veins. The lungs were spongy and soft, the intestines still had digested food inside.
Finally, I cut the the wings, neck and legs off and put them in the soup pot with the rest of the body.
Mr. Rooster made a delicious stock, a nourishing soup for my family and M. He provided us with a life lesson in the miracle of life and the order of the food chain. A hat tip to you, Mr. Rooster.