As someone who actually LIVED on a farm and knows what "go out back and get a chicken for dinner" actually meant, I'd bet no one else on this thread would have the guts to truly "make their own dinner" from killing it, gutting and cleaning it and getting it ready for the frying pan.
They'll probably call me an animal abuser for this post, the gutless sissies.
I wasn’t raised on a farm, but my parents were and are familiar with the “Go get dinner from out back” routine. Just watch out for the pinfeathers.
Story from my yout: I was about five when I had a Rhode Island Red decide to chase me around my Gramma’s chicken yard. Gramma “went out back” that day to fetch us dinner, and the Chicken and Dumplins were extra good that night.
“As someone who actually LIVED on a farm and knows what “go out back and get a chicken for dinner” actually meant, I’d bet no one else on this thread would have the guts to truly “make their own dinner” from killing it, gutting and cleaning it and getting it ready for the frying pan.”
You might be surprised. A few years ago, I had occasion to talk for a while on the phone to an old farmer friend in Nebraska. The conversation came around to his grandson who had married a big city girl from the Chicago area. For some reason they lived in the boonies in Peru for some time.
What did they eat? Mostly chicken. Who caught and fixed them? The wife. The old farmer was impressed.