As you may or may not know, our dear Monki eats pretty well. Rasa makes all of her meals from scratch (not the Carl Sagan creating the universe type of scratch, but from raw materials). She’ll boil up grains and relatively fresh vegetables, get them nice and soft and then puree them into a baby friendly porridge by adding milk and heat (side note – if you want to do this at home, and you’re getting a hand blender, get the 700w model – the 520w just ain’t strong enough. We burned out 2 motors before discovering this fact).
Sure, from time to time she’ll have a jar of
prepackaged fruit (only because we haven’t yet started to boil down fruit into a compote, which will probably do in the summer when good, natural fruit becomes more readily available) but for the most part, for the past few months she’s been living a clean, vegetarian lifestyle.
That all ended today.
See… at 6 months, Monki can start to eat meat. She should start with rabbit and chicken. So far, so good. Naturally, though, the meat you can buy at the grocery store is processed and farm raised and probably pumped full of growth hormones and steroids and what have you. All of this is fine for us adults, but not so much for growing Monkies. Nope. Instead, last Thursday, Rasa found a local farm which supplies fresh, free range rabbit meat and she promptly placed and order. This isn’t for some nice, clean rabbit steaks mind you, oh no.
Which is why, at 10am on a Sunday morning, there’s a guy at our day handing over a skinned, beheaded, and eviscerated (except for the liver) rabbit.
Now, since Rasa actually has a pet rabbit, this was not something she wanted to see, so I took the grocery produce bag with the meat and stuffed it into the fridge. Then, when she was in the shower, I proceeded to butcher it, cutting off slices for Monki’s future meals. Honestly, this was never a thing on my bucket list. I am not an outdoorsy kinda guy, never have been. Sure, been fishing once or twice, camping a few times, but in general, not what I would choose for a long weekend. And certainly not a hunter, especially not a big-game, just-for-fun hunter but even a I-need-to-kill-to-survive kinda hunter. I mean, yeah, I can carve a Thanksgiving turkey and chop up a chicken breast if I need to, but it was hard not to see a fluffy bunny here under my knife.
I did it, because hey, that’s what my girls needed me to do, but it was not how I was expecting to spend my Sunday. And the thing is, in a few weeks, when we get another one because she’ll still need meat in her diet, I’ll do it again. It’ll probably still be weird, though.