Le Roi Des Poulets

My name was the first name drawn from the hat. While I had known that I wanted to go through with it from the beginning, it was still a bit disconcerting to be the first drawn. We had all decided to draw names to decide who the five would be to deliver our five chickens to kingdom come, kingdom come being our famishied tummies.
Now I've never been squemish about eating chickens. In fact, I make it well known that I cherish chicken consumption. That being said, surburbanite that I am, I've never delivered the final blow to a foule, and that has always been fine by me. Until today that is.
I attempted to stay calm and respectful as we walked outside carrying our chickens. I'll not lie, I was tempted to say "dead chicken walking", but the urge soon passed as I looked at my large feathered friend. Large might not be the correct word, the chickens here are muscular and mine was the bulkiest of the bunch, able to leap tall coops in one brawny bound.
For some reason I went last. While this allowed me to take mental notes on the other slayings, it also allowed me to reflect on the ultimate sacrifice this king of chickens was making for me, although I supposse it wasn't really a sacrifice as I was consciously choosing to kill him. Either way, I took the opportunity to wax philosophic and imagine the thoughts of my poulet, comme on dit.
The final moment came and it was curtains for chicken. I'm proud to say that he went stoically, like a vrai roi des poulets, and shamed the other lesser chickens, who by this time were wrapped in a heap with their necks cut open. In line with the local Muslim custom, we cut all of their throuts over a hole in the ground and then covered said hole with a rock. I'm sure there is a deep religious symbolism in this but it escapes me at the moment.
Cleaning and preparing the chicken was a much more involved process. I felt like a med school student using my pocket knife to carve out the intestines and other goodies in the chicken. The whole process was really rewarding as oftentimes people are fooled into thinking that their food comes from the grocer's as oppossed to from a living breathing thing. Someone famous said, "a gentleman should stay out of the kitchen", sorry someone famous.
Next step is a goat, and I don't think I've graduated to that yet. Maybe I'll skip goat and go straight to cow. Who knows, I'm open to suggestions. My host brother asked me what I thought about killing my first chicken, my response, "mon prémiére, pas ma dérniére." Chicken-0, B.R.M.-1.