9th January – Slaughtering a Bullock

There is something very disturbing about having to slaughter a domestic animal. The mental journey from innate concern for its well-being to the conviction that it must be killed is a difficult one to make, especially with the knowledge that forcing its transition from living creature to meat, without stress or pain is solely your responsibility. Most people are blissfully detached from the idea of meat being part of an animal but I like to look at my dinner in the eye before dealing the fatal blow. That way I can enjoy eating meat without the concern of having sidestepped the unsavoury fact that ' meat is murder’, to use a popular slogan. I have sworn, that on the day when I don't have the heart to kill an animal to produce meat, I will become a vegetarian and know it’s the right thing.

Bullocks are daunting because of their size but the process of slaughtering, skinning and gutting is really no different than it would be for a sheep or deer. Having penned the beast in a corner of the shed I put down a bucket of food and as it lowered its head to eat I delivered the 12 bore charge to its brain. The bullock dropped instantly and with a movement which has become second nature, I seized the knife from behind me, knelt down and cut deep into its throat, until the dark blood rushed into the straw. Once the thrashing had stopped (all animals thrash after they had been killed as the muscles and nerves are still active for a while after death) I attached chains round its back hooves and H, using his tractor and fore-loader, lifted it out of the shed and transported the carcass to a quiet corner of the yard. The next step was skinning and lowering the bullock once more I  sawed down the breastbone then made cuts through the skin from the  back hooves to it’s groin and another along the belly to meet the cut in the chest cavity. Having made these initial cuts I began pulling and freeing the thick hide with long strokes from a curved knife and the skin began to fall away. I wouldn't claim to be an expert at the job and it took about an hour of careful pulling and cutting until finally I reached the head and having cut it away, was left with the gingery hide crumpled below a glistening carcass.

Getting the guts out is easy. A cow’s innards (especially after a good breakfast like this one appeared to have had) are immensely heavy and with gravity on your side the danger is their coming out too fast. I put my fingers behind the knife blade to ensure the sharp point didn't pierce the intestines (you're in real trouble if that happens) and cut the stomach wall from groin to chest holding in the grey mass with my forearm as I went. Having reached the cut made in the sternum it was a case of standing back, as the huge stomachs ballooned out followed by the intestines and, with a bit of knife work and pulling, the liver, lungs and heart came through the cut, dragged out by the falling gut. The carcass was clean and there only remained the painfully long saw cut from tail to neck, splitting the carcass in half and the job was finally done.

Dinner

Stilton stuffed pheasant breasts wrapped in bacon, with mashed potatoes, cavelero nero, purple sprouting broccoli and cabbage. A late and very generous gift arrived from C  (via Kit as he is working in southern France) in the form of a big lump of Stilton, hence its addition in tonight's dinner. The other anomaly was the purple sprouting broccoli from our garden, weeks and weeks earlier than we would usually expect it.