Rooster Battle Gear

A. dispatched the rooster yesterday morning, and I currently have approximately three gallons of chicken stock in my refrigerator awaiting pressure canning.

HOORAY.

This was the great excitement for me, of course, but for Cubby and Charlie, who were naturally present for all activity regarding the rooster killing, the great excitement was the wings. A. decided to just whack off the head, wings, and feet and then skin the bird, forgoing all the wretched plucking and saving him about half an hour. This meant there were various parts of the rooster on the table outside while he was doing the skinning.

I'm not sure which child discovered the wings first, but they certainly weren't going to let those wings go to waste.

Cubby currently has a spear with a stone point (that he also made himself in the style of a caveman, i.e., by smashing shale with other rocks), and he decided it needed decoration.

I suspect it will be mostly ceremonial rather than actually useful for hunting, but the feathers are a nice touch.

Charlie elected to keep his wing intact and spread it out to make a shield.

Kind of reminds me of those feather fans I associate with Marie Antoinette for some reason. Not, I think, the idea he was going for.

Jack didn't get a wing, seeing as there are only two on a rooster and he's not even a year old. 

He wisely decided to crawl away from this scene.

Chicken stock for me, feathered battle gear for them. Everyone's happy.