Wednesday, October 26, 2011
In this pot lies our rooster, Ridgely.
Ridgely was a bastard. He twice drew blood from Frasier, once savagely attacking the back of her neck as she walked away from him.
What I'm trying to do: convince you (and myself) that he had it coming.
We thought about taking the risk of living with a vicious rooster on the property with two young girls, but ultimately couldn't assure ourselves that it was the right thing to do. We tried to find a rescue home - but no one wanted a rooster.
So the Dogtor did the hard thing - today he rounded up our thuggish little beast and, well, Ridgely is no more. I came home to find a pot boiling on the stove - stock in progress. The kitchen smelled like onions and the fancy bouquet garni a friend gave us as a Christmas gift. The Dogtor asked if I'd be willing to finish the soup after he left for work. I am willing. It seems important to participate, to share the weight of the decision.
Though I'm a vegetarian myself, I purchase meat for my family and company. I have to say that looking at the meat in our stock pot was a compelling experience. I realized how removed we really are from the meat we buy. There is something moving - at least to me - about seeing the body of a bird I listened to every morning in a pot of stock. A sacrifice, discomforting.
The backyard is awfully quiet today.