Personal Narrative: Valdosta

One day, on an early Thanksgiving morning, my family and I, drove out of Valdosta to a farm. Our goal, wasn't to buy a turkey but rather goats, chickens, and a rabbit. At first, what I saw were a big empty land of dirt, plowed and perhaps ready for the seeds to be planted. Out further, I could see the woods surrounding the land and a gathering of crows flying and dancing, with the sun high in the sky. There's also was a small wooden house and cluster of cages separated by a big metal fence. In the fence are goats of all different sizes and colors going from pure white to a mixture of brown, black, or grey, grazing on grass and resting peace fulling in the sun. The surrounding was quiet, even with all the animals in the cages, I could still

The goat struggled at first but stopped after a while, not knowing that a man that wants him dead. Another man, taken a long saw-less kitchen knife, that seems to be used for cutting vegetable or fruits, from a bucket filled with water and handed to the butcher. The Butcher, wasted no time, sliced the goats neck in a saw-like motion, making the cut larger and larger until 2/3 of the goat's neck is cut and blood gushes out with great vigor. The blood was a beautiful crimson color as if a rose would've blooded out of the puddle that seems to form below itself. Yet, from a distance, I can still smell the light sense of iron from the humid air. After the goat stopped bleeding, struggling, and the tail gives of one last twitch of life, the goat was hanged by the leg onto a tree branch for perhaps easier butchering. Again, wasting no time, the butchers started slow and careful, cutting little by little at the skin of the goat's leg, which later to a longer and quicker cut, peeling as if they were only taking off the goat's coat off and revealing the goat's naked body. The process was not yet over, the goats were only the start of the slaughter.

Just like the goats, the chicken too was held and the head pulled back revealing the neck. To prolong the death, the butcher plucked a few feathers from the neck, allowing the chicken's pink skin to be seen. Unlike the goats, the blood only