Dead or Alive...

The other day Eli says, "Mom, guess what's in my pocket!"  I dreaded this day.  I actually dreaded sticking my hand in a pocket of dirty shorts about to be put into the wash more so.  Fortunately, this time it was only 2 crickets.  Live crickets. 
Today it was a dead bug.  A large dead bug. 
Our barn cats have begun to bring home dead things.  Mice and chipmunks.  Can I mention how much I hate picking up headless rodents.  Even more so, I hate that my children find them before I do.  I only hate this because I have this fear that the rodent is carrying some sort of horrific disease and my children will catch it.  I'm pretty sure these rodents have not been on a ship making a summer-long Atlantic voyage with rum-drinking dirty pirates from Europe, but I am still wary.
Our goats arrived again last week in the form of dinner.  Ew.  My kids were super excited to eat "Frankie", but I had to decline.  I almost threw up in mouth a little bit when Silas, face covered in ketchup, approached me and said, "Eat goat. Frankie ketchup!" 
We're preparing mentally for the slaughter of our meat birds.  I know what you're thinking...I just talked about being horrified at the kids eating our pet goats and now I'm talking about killing chickens. 
I am not attached to these birds at all.  They will live with us for between 8 to 12 weeks and then off with their heads! 
A fellow chicken-keeper friend of mine and I were discussing what to do with the layers after they're past their prime.  We talked of a chicken swap, since we couldn't eat our beloved ladies.  As much as I'd love to keep a flock of old hens, I foresee the flock becoming very large over the years...