One of the things I love about hunting is it allows me to teach my kids where meat really comes from, and to help them avoid developing culturally-imposed squeamishness about it. A few minutes ago I was out removing the antlers from the bull elk I shot yesterday. Andrea and the three older girls are at the dentist, so it was just 2 year-old Winnie and I.
"Daddy, what's that?"
"That's some meat."
"What's that?"
"That's his ear."
"What's that?"
"That's some blood."
"What are you doing Daddy?"
"We need to cut some of his hair and skin so we can take the horns off."
"Are you cutting the blood Daddy?"
"Yeah, I guess I am."
"Is that some blood, Daddy?"
"That's his brain, sweetie."
"His brain?"
"Yeah."
She then proceeds to pick up a plastic star Christmas tree-topper, and walks over. "Can I help you cut the elk too, Daddy?" "Sure, honey." She takes the star and smacks the ear a couple of times. "I cut his ear off, Daddy." "Good job, honey."
At no point in this was she ever freaked out, grossed out, or scared. Harvesting, cleaning, and processing our own natural, organic, free-range wild game helps my kids develop an informed and grateful respect for where our meat comes from.
Winnie's still not entirely convinced about the eating thing, though. "We're going to eat him, honey. He's yummy," I explained to her. "No, we can't eat him, Daddy," she replied. "Why not?" She motions indicating the shop's interior. "Because, he's inside." Hmmm...