When I was a child living in Washington, D.C., my father came home with two chickens that he won in a card game. Yes, he had been drinking! Chickens are not allowed in the city--after all, this is the nation's capitol! We could not keep them. We didn't have much money for food...well, you get the picture.
Not too many days later, my mother, a city gal, who had no previous experience with farm animals, wrung one of the chicken's neck. I stood and watched. I am still traumatized by the memory of that headless thing flopping around the backyard.
Next, using scalding hot water, she removed the feathers. Whew! What a smell! I don't think that thing EVER took a bath!
Chicken dinner was served that night, but I ate none of it.
All childhood memories are not pleasant, are they?