Since Cliff's brother and his buddy are still here, I made Pioneer Woman's latest recipe for breakfast. When I woke up, I was a little leery about getting out of bed; I was on my feet almost non-stop yesterday, and I figured my knee would be telling me about it. However, the knee was not protesting at all. It's a little better every morning when I arise.
Now if you are among the squeamish, you won't want to go far into this picture album: After pictures one and two, you will see sharp knives. And blood. And guts. I assure you the hog was feeling no pain in any of these pictures. Cliff shot him with a twenty-two. I took no pictures until the throat was actually cut and all movement ceased, because I was afraid someone would think the poor creature was still alive. There's a lot of involuntary kicking and jerking when an animal is dying. Those of you who were raised on the farm and saw chickens killed know how they flop all over the yard after their heads have been removed.
Today the people who supplied the hogs will come and wrap the meat and help grind it, as Cliff makes it into chops and steaks and ground pork.
So there you have it. Enjoy (or not).