It must have been horrible for you if you never had seen anything like that before.
For me, on the other hand, it was just a matter of life. My grandmother use to be the one who chopped off the chicken's heads right there in the side field. We kids were taught how to do it. Though this for me, all happened on our farm right in Cheshire, CT. My family were mountain people from Georgia who mostly lived off the land. We slaughtered at least one pig a year and I can still see them hanging from the tree limb so the blood could drain out. My Grandmother loved her squirrel and would have my uncle go shoot her some quite often. I just grew up that way. We were very poor.
I wouldn't trade those first 11 or 12 years of my life for all the money in the world. It was a great life if you were a kid. Three houses huddled together at the end of a long dirt drive way surrounded by fields of produce in the summer months. Watermelon right off the vine, crashed on a big rock to break it open then eaten with a bare hand right there in the field. Plenty of cousins to play with and extended family grownups watching over all us kids. Sigh. Wonderful memories.
Then my mother got remarried moved me and my sister away and my life changed.
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