One October when I was four, my grandpa and grandma butchered a hog in the yard. Big steaming kettle of boiling water, washing and rinsing everything, then making the packaged meat for the freezer, the sausages, roasts, rendering the flaked lard, making lye soap the following month. They had ten children, who all helped at some point. I just watched, fascinated.
My husband used to hang deer to butcher them. When we moved onto our little farm, the neighbors laid a beautiful big fresh doe out behind our woodpile for a housewarming present (January) not exactly in season, but since we never had any idea who our benefactor was, no problem.
The neighbors around here know my kids and if there is a deer to be processed, my daughter is called. she doesn’t have the heart for killing, but she’s game for everything else. She usually gets the hide and some meat for her troubles.