A second post about Roast Duck

The following is inspired by actual events.  Some details have been changed (i.e. made more gruesome and shocking) to make it more interesting.  I don’t know why I felt the need to tell you that.

The chicken flew out of my hands.  She was sure to scratch my thumb on her way out and threw some feathers into my face with her flapping wings.  I was a sweaty ten year old and the place smelled like chicken poop.  Chicken blood mixed with feathers in the grass.

“Hold on to her tighter!”

That was great advice, given about a second too late.  I grabbed another one.  She immediately screamed and kicked and threw her head back.  I threw her down.  She just lay there, screaming and squirming.  My brother stomped on her head and crushed it, putting her out of her misery.

“Not so tight, dumbass! You crushed her rib cage!”

Not tight enough and she gets away.  Too tight and she lives the last seconds of her life in agony.  How was I supposed to hold a chicken tight enough buy not too tight?

We should have just shot the little bitches.  Or let them die of old age.  Picking them up and trying to hold on to them so that we could get a good hold on their head and wring their neck.  Well, that’s just a little too traumatic.  They still tasted good, though.

That experience probably saved four duck lives.  When I was little I hated eggs.  They tasted like burnt hair to me.  I’d rather have eaten sweaty socks than eggs.

So imagine how surprised my family was when I announced how much I enjoyed eating duck eggs.  Shortly after it was announced that the ducks were to be slaughtered my brother salivated for roast duck.  I was horrified and quickly hatched a plan (pardon the pun).  My folks had been trying to get me to eat eggs for years.  I guess they were tired of me eating all the sweaty socks in the house.

The plan worked.  I ate those duck eggs every chance I got.  The ducks got to go to a nice pond somewhere (maybe we ate them and that nice pond doesn’t exist, but I don’t care because I got to live out my childhood imagining them swimming around and quacking and waddling and having a good time).  So my brother was cheated out of his roast duck and I grew to actually like eggs and nobody had to wring any duck necks.

Thank you for going on this journey with me.  I can’t wait to find out what’s next.  I’m thrilled with the possibilities.

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