Hedge of Thorns: Butchery
Back at the hanging carcass, I make another cut between the twelfth and thirteenth ribs, sever the spine, and on through the far side. The midsection drops onto the hide. Quickly, I cut away the first strip of boneless back strap meat and lay it aside. Then, I remove the second back strap, and take time to bundle the pieces together with my twine.
A glance at Carbon shows me he’s dozing. It’s mid-afternoon, and time to sharpen my knife and axe. I raise a sweat with the effort of breaking these next ribs from the spine.
“Bobby ought to be here to do this; he really should.” I fling the section of spine away in an arc, to land, splat, atop the pile of discarded entrails.
Stepping over to my canteen, I lift it, shake it, unscrew the cap, and swig. “Should’ve made Bobby share his water with Tumble, ’stead of giving away Grandpa’s canteen. Dumb move, Jill.”
Carbon’s ears swivel, and he snorts. At least he’s listening.
I close the canteen, go back to the maple, untie the rope, and lower the carcass hind quarters within easy reach. After the remaining ribs are cut free, I tie them into compact lumps and lay those close together on the deer hide.
Greenish light glints off my bloody blade as I debone the flesh from the hind legs. Other people probably cut it all into recognizable roasts. I might too, if Bobby were here, sharing the work. As usual, he’s not; and the idea of packing this homeward, alone in the dark, doesn’t thrill me in the least. When I get home, I’ll still have to wrap the meat in a tarp, and hang it to age in the springhouse.
Stretching, I sigh as another thought hits me. Do I have sufficient wood stockpiled to smoke and jerk this meat? More would be better. If I find a hickory deadfall, will I be able to reduce it to manageable chunks, transport the wood, and hunt and butcher a bear, in the time I have left before winter?
My heart pounds, and I want to scream in frustration. Bobby, you rat!
Focus on one task at a time. Are the long hind leg bones worth the time and trouble to pack along? Yes. I wrench them free of the pelvis and toss them with the other bones on the hide.
After I pull my rope from the tree, I walk around the deer hide, folding it around the meat, leg bones, and the doe’s skull, careful not to shake any clinging dust onto the food. I kneel to tie the hide closed.
Straightening, I catch a glimpse of purple in the nearby plants. Not a thistle, but wild asters. I pull up a handful, and approach Carbon and check his tether. He decides to accept my offering, and stands placidly chewing while I lift the travois poles over his shoulders again.
The sun’s already lower in the sky as I bury my cooking fire, heave the bundled meat, my tools, and finally, my pack onto the travois sling.
“Time to work, Carbon. Let’s get this goodness home.”
Hedge of Thorns: Butchery is an installment of a Post-Apocalyptic story in which a young artist survives with her family. Check for new posts on Fridays.
Find other serialized stories here:
Ruth
Heidi Kortman