Butchering Turkeys

As you may or may not know, we raised turkeys this year.  We started with eight.  Something ate two of them.  So we have six, now.  Well, actually five, but will get to that in a minute.
Turkeys are beautiful except for their heads, well, and their necks.  The rest is beautiful.  And sooo, interesting.  I have really enjoyed having them.
Alas, it is time for them to go to Freezer Camp.  A very sad day.  Jerry decided to butcher one.  It is different than the chickens.  The chickens, he just pulls all the skin off, doesn't have to deal with the feathers.  Then when I see them, they have been in the frig for a day or two, and he slices the meat off the bone or cuts them in pieces and I put them in freezer bags.
Turkeys have feathers.  They have to come off.  So, in the dark, cold night my sweet husband decides to butcher a turkey.  He pulls most of the feathers off and brings it inside.  Dripping, holding it by the leg, and saying to me, "Can you finish pulling these little feathers off?"  I look at him.  I look at the turkey.  I look at him.  I am thinking of the beautiful creature that adorned our pasture not so many minutes ago.  I look at him.  He goes outside.  I look at the turkey, for a long time. I touch the turkey.  I pull several feathers.  Some come off, some stay stuck.  I think of the turkey.  I look around for the man that has me standing here doing this.  I start to cry.  I think to myself, "Self, this is so dumb.  It is just meat.  Pull the feathers off."  I can't do it.  It is all I can do to clean a turkey from the store for Thanksgiving.  And they don't come with feathers.  I haven't seen them strutting around my yard.  I start to gag.  And cry again.  I give up.  Jerry comes in, he looks at me.  He looks at the turkey.  He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.  I think, that is what men are for, pulling feathers.
Oh well, five more to go.  Maybe I will improve with experience.
So much for me being a farmer... I wanna be in my dream farm...