#strain gizzards

[guillaumeferranddd]

Fried Chicken Gizzards Recipe Garlic powder is added to a simple breading to give a slightly different flavor to fried chicken gizzards.

[phantomtrax]

My dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😛 this strain is called “Gizzard Spume” 😳 you’ll be zonked out of your gourd 💯

Me: yeah whatever. I don’t feel shit.

5 minutes later: dude I swear I just saw something rise from the terrestrial juice

My buddy Dedusmuln pacing: the reconstitutionists are lying to us

[loveandvore]

This is a NSFW Kink Blog, Minors DNI!

learned about insect digestive anatomy and i'm not Normal

Dragonfly Boy Vore Time

You're trapped. The dark, cramped space the dragonfly has scarfed you down to is barely large enough to hold you, the walls of his chest pressed tight against your body, pinning you in place. You can feel his rib cage against your face- if only you were a bit stronger, you might be able to fight back, thrust outwards and break it... but it takes all your strength just to strain your muscles against his, his crop cradling you oh so tightly.

You don't know how long you spend in there, held just below his gullet as he goes about his day. Hours pass as his body shifts around you, your only movements prompted by his own. You've almost gotten used to the darkness enveloping you, the walls of flesh cocooning you so unforgivingly, when suddenly, you begin to move- downward, you are moving downward.

Your head slowly pushes out of the dragonfly's crop, into someplace just as tight, but far less flexible. You hadn't realized that were even a possibility. The walls are no longer soft, but lined with firm bumps, which seem to grind against you as you slide further downward. They catch on your clothes, tearing them to shreds, as your skin is tenderized by the rows and rows of tooth-like walls that line the dragonfly's gizzard. You shift and squirm in discomfort, reluctantly grateful that the trip down his throat so graciously coated you with saliva, making this part of the journey less painful than it might have been otherwise.

You're squeezed through, panting in exhaustion as your body is chewed like a piece of meat, bruising your tender skin as you're slowly deposited on the other side of the gauntlet.

Unfortunately, the sting of liquid on your quivering hands tells you that the worst is still yet to come...

[griffinsspike]

more words

I really like the more strained sounding vocals that come in on, for example, Aberinkula. Speaking of that song, there are these really cool guitar runs, I think in the second half of some verses, that are pretty dissonant and cool. Also, saxophone parts! Might be my favorite jazz instrument, especially when it's fiery and dissonant. Which it absolutely is in that song. The whole second half of the song is great, actually. One of my favorites.

Speaking of dissonant and cool, Metatron has a lot of these really big sounding spicy chords. Which I assume makes sense with the At The Drive-In connection? I can't remember if I listened to them that much when I was into post-hardcore, so I can't say for sure. Also, the vocals in the verse are neat. I like when they stay on the same note for a few words in a row. Well, at least I think they do, my ears aren't that trained lmao

Ilyena was one of my favorites off the album. Very groovy song. The backing vocals in some of the quieter parts remind me of tornado sirens, so that's neat. The line "I seem to hide in metal plates, held together alone don't wait" sticks out as one I like. The outro's probably my favorite thing on the album, love how abrasive the instruments are.

The first couple of notes of Goliath reminded me of Anoxia by King Gizzard. They go in totally different directions, but that was neat. Goliath punctuates a lot of lines in the verses with a couple ascending notes in a very classic heavy metal way. Big fan of how high energy the second half is, too, with that bass and its noisy guitar solo.

Cavalettas is so loud. I love it. And the saxophone comes back!

Agadez is another one of my favorites. Not really a lot to say about it that I didn't say about other tracks, but the lyrics are cool. I also like the bass at around 3:40 and the big stuff the guitar's playing a little over five minutes in.

There are a couple tracks where I don't have much to say. Askepios has some cool dramatic parts in the first half and then starts to rock really hard in the second. I already made a whole different post about Ouroborous since it was the first Mars Volta song I'd heard. And Soothsayer has some cool instrumentation.

Conjugal Burns is a nice closing track. The "All of this time, bedsore containment/Where am I now that the music has faded?" bit is really catchy. But the part I really love is when it gets noisy. I mean, I like free jazz (big John Coltrane fan), so that's to be expected.

listened to "The Bedlam in Goliath" by The Mars Volta tonight. wanna make the post now but I'll reblog or edit this later with more words

[vivribbon]

TIMELAND -> SMOKE AND MIRRORS -> THE LAND BEFORE TIMELAND -> HYPERTENSION

[today-pepperland-goes-bluey]

Listen to the colors of your dream

[gizzardsgizzards]

Next show!

[coweatman]

[poptod]

Subterfuge (Baxter x Reader)

Description: You’re the new medical examiner. Like most medical examiners, you’re a little... different.

Notes: aghhhh im caught in so many lies with my family and friends that im gonna fucking break down but if i tell anyone the truth im gonna get my ass beat on several different levels WC: 1.7k

+

The latex gloves on your hands did little to stay the cold blood, staining up the skintight material that clung to your sweat. This wasn't the first time you had your hands wrist-deep in organs, but it was the first corpse who had a bullet in his eye, and the first time you were completely alone.

Your years as an assistant were finished, and now you were a full-on doctor––a medical examiner, to be specific. A coroner. The one who deals with the dead. Not a particularly charming profession, but far more interesting, and far more safe than most others.

There was one problem, though––the policemen. You were never a timid person, but some of them just got to you, itched beneath your skin and sped your heart. Why that was hadn't yet been identified, so instead you focused on something you understood; the human body. The stiffness of refrigerated muscle, the stench of uncleaned organs, a mask chafing against your cheeks. The heat of a bright light on your neck.

The man below you was a particularly unfortunate man. Died young, was never quite fully healthy, and had few friends and family. His method of death was what caught the eye of one of the detectives, though it seemed cut-and-dry to you. There were no struggle marks, puncture wounds, bruises, or even scars on his body. Only the bullet hole. He had to have done it himself. Still, it wasn't your job to question the detectives––only to bring them the information you gather.

"How's he lookin'?" Asked a man from behind you, the quiet hinges of the door swinging shut as he entered. You shot up, eyes instantly meeting his.

"Haven't gotten far. About through the small intestine," you said, gesturing to the different jars and plastic boxes categorized with the man's organs. The nearest to you was the lungs. You noted the scrunch in the man's nose with mild amusement.

"Gotten the bullet out yet?"

"Oh, yeah. Already sent it up for ballistics," you said with a curt, polite smile.

He remained silent after that, watching you work from the safe, mostly smell-free area of your desk. With his back leant on the table, he crossed his arms with intent eyes.

"You're the new medical examiner, aren't you?" He asked after a particularly wet squelching sound came from your working fingers.

"Yes sir," you said, nodding. "Started yesterday."

"Oh, this must be new for you then."

"I've done autopsies before, but this is the first time on my own, yes," you admitted with a tinge of embarrassment. It was the truth, that this was new, but he didn't have to mention it.

"Well then, welcome to the team," he chuckled. "My name's Baxter."

"(L/N). Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. I'd shake your hand, but," he trailed off as the both of you turned to your bloodied gloves.

"Don't worry," you said, a grin spreading across your face. "I'll give you a raincheck on that."

He hummed, uncrossing his arms and legs as he began to saunter over to you. For the most part, you could easily ignore his eye, stuck between your concentrated expression and steady hands. Having teams of professors and doctors looking over your shoulder for exams had prepared you well.

"Find anything curious?" He finally asked.

"Not really," you mumbled, gently cutting open the flesh of the stomach. "Not yet. There aren't any cuts or contusions of any notable kind. Only wound I could find was the bullet hole and an infected bruise on his toe. I'll be sending blood, stomach, and stool samples up to Peters soon, I'm sure you'll know more then."

As you took the samples out of the victim's stomach, Baxter circled the brightly lit table, stopping when he reached the feet. There he knelt, scanning the pale blue skin.

"How do you suppose he got this?"

"Haven't gotten there yet, but I'd assume he bashed it against some furniture," you said. He eyed you curiously but remained quiet for a moment.

"Looks like a puncture wound," he said slowly, contemplating his words carefully before he spoke.

"Give me a moment, sir," you said with a huff, sealing up the stomach tubes and setting them on the tray beside you.

Since you were the only doctor present, you had to hold the stomach walls open yourself, which kept you busy for a good two minutes before you could look at Baxter's little pointer. To your immense relief he waited patiently for you to finish sewing and setting away your tools, before shuffling to the side to make room for you at the end of the table.

As he noticed, there was a small, dark spot beneath his big toe's nail. Digging into your white coat pocket, you pulled out your magnifier glass and set it up close to the cold skin.

"Could be right," you said softly, focused more on your sight than your tongue. You raised a gloved hand, pulling at the wound, pushing on the bruise till the hole widened.

"Needle mark?"

"That's what I was thinking," you said, shoving your magnifier glass back in your pocket. "Good eye, Baxter. I'll tell Peters to check his blood for any trace drugs."

You circled back around to your spot on the table, sorting through the six tube samples before lifting the case into your arms. Noticing your small stumble over your feet, he rushed over to join you, taking the case from you.

"I can take this up for you," he offered, his wide, grey eyes set strictly upon you. The sudden closeness had your words stammering and stuttering.

"Um – y- yeah, thank you," you said with a smile, your chest tight as he left. Only when the door shut behind him did you breathe again, turning back to the patient beneath you.

Hopefully, when you got the chance to meet the rest of the officers, you wouldn't slip up like that––messing up in front of one person was enough, and Baxter already felt like a very strange person, so probably would mind your oddness the least. The others would be less forgiving, or at least that's what you assumed. Most of the police you'd met in your life had been incredibly straight-cut, diamonds-up-the-ass kind of people.

"What a strange lad," you commented to your patient. "I should bake him some cookies."

The rest of the autopsy took three hours, full of rotting stenches and labelled gizzards. Your thirty-minute break was reduced to ten as the victims of a bar shootout came in, the three bodies riddled with bullet holes, leaving the cause of death obvious to anyone who stopped by. You didn't see Baxter again that day–���not until it was done, and you were wrapped back in your personal coat, heading towards the elevator.

He caught the door before it could close in front of you, and as you rushed in with full hands you hurriedly thanked him. A bell dinged and the door shut, leaving the two of you alone in the enclosed space, the buzzing florescent light buffering between you.

"Did you hear about the shootout?" You asked when it became clear to you that this was a slow elevator.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I got a call and stopped by, but... they were already gone, and the, um.. the others were dead."

"Well, if they weren't then, they are now," you said, once again ignoring his questioning eye. "I had to put their brains in some jars."

To your surprise, he chuckled, brushing the hair off his face and readjusting his perfect posture.

"You know, usually it takes some time before new people start making jokes about the dead," he said, grinning as he looked at you out of the side of his eye.

"I'm a fast learner and a natural comedian. Mother always was disappointed in my career choice... wanted me to be a court jester," you teased with your own giggle, heart beating rapidly at the prospect of someone pretty enjoying your company.

"You do well in both careers. Do – do you need some help with that?" He asked, noticing your struggle with the varied bags in your arms.

"I think I can do it," you said, huffing as you tried to hoist the plastic back onto you. Before you could help it two of them slipped, nearly falling but halted when Baxter caught them mid-air.

"What do you have in here?" He asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to glance inside.

"Clothes," you said after a mumble of a 'thank you'. "One of the women here had a lot of clothes to get rid of and, well, I need some. And I'm sure one of my roommates could use them, too."

"Oh. Do you have a car?"

"You could call it that."

"I'll help you carry these there, then," he said, taking another bag off your shoulder. The loss of stress on your muscles left you relieved, and you sighed happily.

"Thank you, sir."

You tried to contain your smile as you led him through the parking lot, slipping between the empty spaces to get to your tiny vehicle. Legally it wasn't even a car––actually, you'd built it from the basis of a golf cart, slowly adding and changing features until it drove and looked essentially like a car. Hard work, but you'd been doing it since you stole it in the 7th grade.

Rarely did you ever get along with people, and so Baxter's politeness had sparked a delight in you that brought a ceaseless smile. When you took the bags from him, you thanked him again, attempting to hold a conversation while shoving the bags into the back of your car. He chuckled at your strained words, but eventually helped you when he got over his amusement.

"It was nice to meet you today, and thank you, again," you said once the backdoor was slammed shut beneath yours and Baxter's combined strength.

"Pleasure to meet you, as well. Drive safe now," he said, shaking your hand with a grin.

"Oh I will," you assured him, laughing. You clambered into the driver's seat, shutting the door but leaning out the open window. "If I don't I'll have you on my ass."

"You know it!" He said as he walked away, his bright laugh echoing in the mostly-empty parking lot.

[homeofhousechickens]

i recently got a massive egg that i found out had two yolks in it. do you know what causes this, and how frequently they occur? related, since the egg was so big, do chickens need help laying bigger eggs, and how would you help them do that? thank you :D

Have your chickens recently started laying (under a year old)? Or did someone go on break then start laying again?

Double yolkers are caused by the chickens ovary ovulating more then one egg cell,usually 2 instead of one but some birds have ovulated more then 2 and have had crazy sized multi yolk eggs. Double yolkers are incredibly common and usually not a cause for concern

Our own biological processes are not perfect and humans can also ovulate multiple egg cells at once :)

The charts i posted below are a good start to learning more about a chickens Oviduct.

A chickens "egg" becomes a shelled egg in the uterus so before that usually the two egg yolks are just vibing in a membrane together so its not paticularly hard to pass the egg like any other egg.

So your chickens are probably fine its completely normal :) but for the sake of knowledge though ill go more into it

Their are many reasons why a chicken might become eggbound. One of them is lack of calicum. The muscles in the oviduct that push the egg along actually need calicum to work and without enough calicum they cant actually push the egg out. This is why oyster shell is better then calicum powder because it will give the bird calicum over a period of time as it sits in the gizzard.

Another reason is infection. Chickens are kinda just really open internally due to being a bird so its not difficult for a respitory infection in the lungs or intestinal infections (like e.coli) to "jump" to oviduct and cause issues.

Infections like Infectious Bronchitis (and other viruses) can permanently damage the oviduct so the hens produce eggs with a wrinkly texture.

Inflammation due to stress, trauma, illness, cancer can also cause a hen to have trouble passing an egg due to swelling.

The best thing for situations like above is to support the hen and treat the underlying problem.

Vet can give antiboitics for an infection, pain relief for swelling, and will be able to do fecals and vent swabs to pinpoint the issue.

Hens who have chronic problems with their reproductive tract can be implanted with a hormone implant to stop laying in some countrys, or they can spayed as a last resort as its a tough surgery.

Egg binding symptoms

-Lose of appetite

-Disinterest in Drinking

-Excessive Drinking (vit d deficiency symptom as well)

-Shaking or Shivering

-Penguin stance

-frequent sitting and laying down

-Lethargy

-Listlessness

-Straining the abdominal muscles, vent pulsating.

-very wet liquid droppings or none at all

-Trouble walking, falling over, almost like the legs are weak. This is due to the egg pressing against nerves. (Also a symptom of Mareks if not egg bound)

-Droopy pale comb

Egg binging or being egg bound is a medical emergency.

Hens will normally die within 24-48 hours if they cannot pass stool, hens that can pass stool can last longer.

If the hen lasts longer and treatment isnt available or isnt working, quailty of life needs to be taken into account as this is a very painful and uncomfortable condition, the kindest thing you can do for a hen who cant get treatment is to put her to sleep.

There are some things you can do to help your hen pass the egg.

-Warm soak in a bath (water should be pretty warm to touch)

-Giving Liquid Calicum or crushed calicum tablets

-Very Gently Massaging the abdomen

-If you can physically feel the egg and its towards the end of the oviduct you can glove up and lube up and very very gently remove the egg or lube up the oviduct if you cant reach to help it along. Use medical grade lube for this if you can or normal average water based lube with no additives. You wont want to yank the egg out as you cause a prolapse.

-a private place such as a bin or crate that isnt completly dark with good soft bedding material can be enough to get a hen to the lay the problem egg.

-a little heat source like a hot water bottle or heating pad can help relax the muscles and provide pain relief for the bird but its important its not to hot and the bird can get away from it.

Thankfully double yolkers are pretty common and a healthy chicken usually has no trouble passing the egg but i hope the knowledge I shared will help you if you or anyone reading do experience a hen who gets an egg stuck.

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 20

May 10, 1984.

I have been down in the Pit for about two weeks now and I feel as though I am at my wit’s end. Not only have some of these passages collapsed in on themselves but it seems as though this map, which the people at the Natural Resources office assured me was the most up-to-date map of the area they had, is horribly wrong. I keep returning to the same landmarks I have seen a dozen times now, taking passages that the map says ought to lead to the areas I am trying to reach, but I end up right back at the same spot again.

There are none of the call boxes down here; I am very far off the trail. I have the radio phone that they gave me at the office but I have not tried to use it yet. Even if I did call for help, I doubt that any of the rangers would be able to find their way to me. I have heard stories that even the people who live and work down here get lost more often than not. They don’t like to tell these stories but after having worked with them for so long, you overhear things.

I am fine on food for now, and if worse comes to worst I can always cook up small hunks of the walls and floors. I know it is frowned upon but I would rather not starve when there is a wealth of food all around me.

If I don’t return with at least a sample I will be in deep water. I am already on thin ice as it is, so to speak; when I returned from my last expedition the administrator told me that whatever I had done to the copepods had stirred them up something fierce, and that they had already taken three rangers that week. I pretended ignorance but inwardly I was terrified; if he had found out what I knew…

Sometimes I think I may be being followed, but I have seen no evidence of it. It is just a feeling. I do my best to laugh it off.

After all, who would be crazy enough to follow me down here?

 May 12, 1984.

Made it to the Village but the bridge is out. Spectacular view, a vast churning ocean of acid and various fluids surging out of the orifices above and pounding down the long gullet-like drop below. The Village is taunting me from the other side.

The metal of the bridge looks befouled somehow. I’m not sure, I have not seen anything like this before. Not rust or corrosion but like the inch-thick metal has been crumpled or wrinkled like the wrapper of a candy bar. The majority of the bridge is simply missing, having probably fallen down into the abyss below. I spent an hour cursing my luck. I will have to turn back.

 May 13, 1984.

Took a triocanth today. Like Rainier said, the meat of its abdomen was savoury, not unlike lobster, but with a faint and offputting aftertaste that became gradually fouler the more I ate. I had to discard the majority of it. I did not need to eat it, I still have some food left, but I wanted to see how bad it would be when I ran out.

Later in the day I began the ascent back up. I am not entirely empty-handed; I managed to retrieve some of the smaller ‘pearls’ from Oyster’s Shame. Of course they are not pearls at all, more like gallstones, but they are valuable. If you can preserve them they make a perfectly fireproof and perfectly flexible material, and I have heard that ground into a paste they can be used as components in electronics, although I haven’t the faintest idea how exactly that works. I doubt the pearls will be enough, though. If only I could have gotten to the village! I am still cursing my bad luck from the day before. I spent all evening trying to find some way to get across but there were none. It all depended on the bridge and I had not even thought that it might have been destroyed.

At least the rangers will be glad to know of it; from what I hear they venture down here only rarely.

Still feel as though I am being followed.

 May 16, 1984.

I am being followed. I’ve seen the man following me, I caught him in the shadow of an ancient, halfway-drained gizzard when I happened to turn around. He was huge, twice as big as I am, and when I called out and shone my light on him he burst apart into a thousand worms or snakes or leeches and they all fled.

I would have thought that my eyes were playing tricks on me or that my mind was beginning to go but when I made my way back to the spot where the man had stood I found a leech there caught under a fold of flesh that had fallen over on top of it when it had tried to flee. It was nearly the size of my arm, but deflated and wrinkled, with a mouth full of flanged teeth. I hacked it into five pieces but some reflex still allowed it to bite me, albeit shallowly, when I picked it up.

I thought I had found the way back up but when I checked the map the passage I was in was not there at all. After about five hundred feet of treacherous twists and turns the stents ran out and the passage compressed down to nothing and I had to make my way back. I made a bright fire tonight and did not sleep much.

 May 17, 1984.

I woke at three A.M. to vomit. Pounding headache. Do not feel well. Have rations gone bad?

 May 17, 1984.

Not the rations. The bite is swollen and infected. I tried to climb further today but was too weak to. My arm feels like it will fall off. Something in the saliva. Why did I pick it up?

 May 17, 1984.

Saw it again today. It is massive. Came to the edge of my camp and stared at me while I pointed at it with my knife and shouted imprecations. I was delirious.

It is somewhat like a starfish, in that it forms itself into a five-pointed shape, but it goes upright on two of the ‘legs’ while two others hang by its side and the other stands straight up towards the ceiling. It seems to be composed of thousands of leeches but why they band together in this manner I do not know. It did nothing to me and eventually vanished, but I passed out from the strain soon afterwards and when I came to a few hours later I was not sure if I had really seen it.

Still feel awful, but not as bad as yesterday. Think I may pull through. I will still have to find some way out of here, but I got here somehow, therefore there must be a way out. I wasn’t able to make it to the village but maybe Rainier and Duke LaVerne will understand.

I think this will be my last time coming down here. One way or another.

 I look up at Elena. “That’s the last one?” I ask her, and she nods.

“That’s all they found at Tim Beaufort’s campsite down there in the Gut. There might have been more but they weren’t able to find it. Or him.”

“So that’s where the story of the Leechman comes from, then?”

“Initially,” she yawns. I close out my wrist screen like she taught me to do and then lean back, glare around the interior of Oyster’s Shame like I’m expecting the Leechman to be standing there in the corner like Mike Myers staring at Laurie Strode or something. “There’ve been other sightings through the years but nothing really concrete. Not that Beaufort’s story is very concrete either, but it was spooky. I’ve always thought it was just the Pit’s version of Bigfoot, just something you scare rookies with.”

I glance over at her. Back inside the station someone bangs into something and curses. Fumi is messing with the stove again but the mood isn’t nearly as jovial as it was before.

The Sergeant’s been trying to get on the radio with Makado for the past couple of hours but there’s some kind of interference. Elena thinks it’s from the nerve clusters surrounding this place; evidently it’s packed full and sometimes when the Pit…thinks too hard? Or something similar, some sort of equivalent, it blanks out every connection from here to the Village.

Whatever the Village is. I asked Elena but she started a couple of times and then just shook her head. “You’d have to see it to believe it,” she told me, and no matter how much I pestered her she wouldn’t budge, just giving me a secretive little smile and telling me to buzz off and then tickling me when I’d persist.

“Why’re we all dead, Elena?” I ask, after enough silence has passed. The field heating pouch is working on my MRE so I don’t have anything to do at present besides chew on a fairly grainy shelf-stable cracker and watch her eat her goulash. She looks up at me alarmed and gives me a concerned Tim Allen-esque grunt and I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Everyone looks round at us and I let it fade fast, try not to blush, but then I’m blushing and I feel awful. “I mean,” I say in a low whisper, once everyone’s returned to their meals, “you know how earlier you said that we were all dead? After I showed everybody the video I took? What did you mean?”

“Oh,” Elena waves, taking another bite. “Yeah, that’s just like, part of the myth. Supposedly if the Leechman catches sight of you or gets your scent or however the hell it works, that’s it, it’s going to hunt you down no matter what. No way of stopping it, no nothing. Like Jason from Friday the 13th.”

“Spooky.”

“So yeah,” Elena smiles, wiggling her fingers at me, warbling her voice. “You’re next, Roan!”

“I take it you don’t think that was a Leechman on the video, then.”

“The Leechman. There’s only one, supposedly.”

“The Leechman, then.”

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, stabbing at her pouch of food. I’ve just taken mine out of the bag and nearly burned my fingers it was so hot. “It might have been the Leechman, sure. But I think if there was something like that down here, there’d have been footage of it before today.”

“There’s not?”

“There is one grainy photograph, that’s it.”

I think about that for a while, roll it around in my head like a particularly distasteful morsel of food that I know I have to eat.

Well, Roan, break it down. What if it’s true? What if there really is a giant monster made out of leeches stomping around out there and it’s going to come for you and that’s that, nothing to be done about it?

I almost, almost shove it out of my mind and forget about it, don’t even bother to entertain the notion, but I catch myself, force myself to feel that heady quake of fear that I feel rising up my throat like a hot flash when I realize that I don’t want to die, that for all of my bluster and bravado, for all of my playacting by taking up chain-smoking and coming down to Gumption on a damn-fool errand, I don’t want to die.

It’s a new feeling and not one I enjoy. It makes me feel weak. When I felt like I was hollow I think I also felt stronger.

“There something wrong with your MRE?” Elena asks, and I frown, look over at her.

“What?”

“You were just giving it a very strange face,” she says, gesturing with her fork.

“Oh,” I roll my eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure?” she asks. “You’re acting –“

I reach over and squeeze her knee gently. “Don’t you worry about me, alright?”

“I’ve been doing nothing but,” she says, and I smile at her and start to say something else, when the Sergeant comes walking out of the station behind us and gestures at me.

“Merriweather,” he says, in a surprisingly calm tone of voice, “I’ve got Miss Veret on the line finally, she wants to speak with you.”

“With me?” I blurt, while Elena studiously avoids my gaze. I haven’t really prodded at it but I don’t want to push my luck with her concession about not rocking the boat until the mission’s over. She’s still quietly furious at both Peter and Makado; I’ve caught her staring at Peter several times, something close to hate in her eyes. Well, maybe that’s being melodramatic. She blames him, though, I’m certain of it, and I – well, I don’t blame her.

The Sergeant ushers me in to the back room – I can’t stop myself from glancing over at the lumpy mass in the corner, trail of blood still leading to it, now hidden beneath an emergency blanket – and holds out a wired phone receiver to me. Immediately a blast of static assaults my ears and I jerk the handset back, but then I can hear Makado’s voice and the static quiets.

“Makado?” I ask. I see the Sergeant’s eyes narrow fractionally as he registers that I’ve called her by her first name but I turn away from him, lean up against the wall.

“Hey, Roan,” she says. She’s put on a brisk, clipped tone but her voice is full of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. There’s a lot going on down here, though.”

“Trust me, I know,” she groans. “We hadn’t heard from the Listening Station in a while but that’s normal, the electrical disturbances in the area can sometimes cut off communications, so nobody here had thought anything of it. I’m going to have to fill out a lot of forms in triplicate tonight. But you’re fine?”

“Yeah, yeah, nothing happened to me, I’m okay.”

“Okay, good. I, uh.”

I frown, glance down at the handset. It isn’t like her to prevaricate. “I wanted to call you first because the situation is evolving up here just as much as it is down there and…the mission might become more dangerous than I’d initially anticipated.”

“What are you saying?”

“I can get you out of there,” she tells me, and it’s like I’ve been hit by a bullet, like I’ve been electrified. I look up at the Sergeant without even meaning to and his face is as unreadable as a bare concrete wall. “But you’d have to leave now,” Makado tells me, ploughing through my moment of stunned confusion. “If you wait much longer I don’t know if I’ll be able to get you out.”

I open my mouth and close it again. I let the seconds roll on so long that Makado says my name again, voice hesitant, as though she’s afraid we’ve lost connection. “I’m still here,” I breathe. I close my eyes. “If I say yes, could you get anybody else out?” I ask her. “One of the other rangers, I mean.”

“No,” Makado says. “I need all of them down there. You can hand off the camera to someone else, I know it’s your camera but I’ll buy you a new one like I said.”

“Definitely not?”

“Huh? Oh, as far as someone else coming out? Yeah, I can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll be here tracking you on the map and I’ll be able to talk you through the way out.”

I smile faintly. “That’s really kind of you, Makado, but I’m staying.”

There’s a moment of frozen silence before I hear Makado cough. “You’re staying?” she asks, and I nod.

“I’m not a quitter. I appreciate it, I really do, but I’m going to see this through.”

I hear her sigh over the line, a whispery gust barely distinguishable from the interference surrounding it. “Well,” she says, “I guess I underestimated you.”

“I’m used to it.”

She starts to say something, then stops, and I smile a little to myself and cut her off. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m okay down here.”

“You’re…doing better?”

“Yeah. I, ah…took a little field trip the other day. Felt a little better afterwards.”

The Sergeant gives me a dubious look but I ignore him.

“All the more reason to get out while you can,” she says, “but I guess you’re determined. Well, I – I admire your character. Jesus Christ,” she laughs, “listen to me, I’m losing it in my old age. Good for you. Don’t die down there, alright?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Yes,” she says softly, “I imagine you will. Can you put Mr. Van Der Leeuwen back on the phone, please?”

“Who?” I blurt, before my eyes flick over to the Sergeant and I realize. I smile at him and I am only a little shocked when he smiles back. “Oh,” I say, “right.”

“See you.”

“You as well,” I tell her, and then I pass it back to the Sergeant and wander back out of the station, feeling like there are wings spreading behind me and trailing dust on all the surfaces as they squeeze through, feeling, infinitesimally and unplaceably, as though the Roan of even just three days ago would have jumped at the offer not quite before it cleared Makado’s lips.

Elena’s finished her meal by now and has mine sitting idly on her lap, saving it for me probably, and when she hears my footsteps behind her she leans around and cranes her neck up at me and then nearly does a double-take. I smile at her and ask what the matter is and she just says that I look happy, and when she says that it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaning down and taking her head in my hands and kissing her long and hard and slow right there.

“I am happy,” I tell her, plopping myself down next to her on the stairs and squeezing her tightly for a moment, just a moment – even if what Slate said the other day was true and we weren’t being as inconspicuous as I’d hoped, I still don’t want to make a production out of it. Not in public, anyway.

Oh, poor Slate. He’d begun to grow on me, he really had. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that he’s gone now, that the guy who was flirting with me three days ago and grinning at me just earlier while we all swapped stories just…disappeared, without even a body left behind to show for it. Now he’s nothing but memories and a bloodstained helmet.

Now Elena asks me why I’m happy and I tell her briefly what Makado had told me, and Elena’s face brightens immeasurably. “Oh, thank god,” she groans. “You’re getting out of here? You’re going to be safe?”

“I – what – no,” I tell her, spluttering a little, “I told her no, I said I wanted to stay down here. I asked her if I could get someone to come out with me and she said no, so I told her I was going to stay. You’re not smiling,” I observe, stupidly. She’s staring at me, mouth slightly open.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Roan,” she says, starting to get up before she remembers the tray of food on her lap. She settles for just twisting around and pointing back at the station. “Go back in there while she’s still on the phone and tell her you’ve changed your mind!” she hisses at me.

“What?” I blurt, and then realize everyone’s looked round and lower my voice “Are you crazy?” I ask her.

“Are you?”

“Elena, I – I thought you’d be happy!”

“You thought I would be happy? Happy that you’re choosing to stay here, in danger, just so you can spend a little more time with me? The thing that’d make me happiest, Roan,” she says, reaching up to stroke my cheek, “is if I knew for a fact you were up there waiting for me, not hanging around down here where you’re liable to get eaten or dissolved or spiked or skewered or what the hell ever else. If I knew I would be coming back to you and that you’d be safe and sound.”

I have, I realize, at some point during that little speech, bitten my lip hard enough to leave a mark. She looks at me with mixed mournfulness and resignation and finally I manage to unstick my jaw long enough to offer a plaintive and unsatisfactory “oh,” and Elena laughs.

“This is pointless,” she murmurs. Her eyes are flicking over my face and for a moment I want so badly that it’s painful to know what she sees when she looks at me. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

I nod, slowly. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t think –“

“You stop that,” she says, prodding me in the ribs with a sly smile. I yelp and cover my mouth reflexively, glaring daggers at her, but her smile latches on to me and then I’m grinning back at her like a damn fool. “Stop being sorry for shit like that,” she tells me, a little more seriously.

“But you’re going to worry about me,” I point out. “About if I’ll die down here.”

“Anything that’s going to want to kill you has got to go through me first,” she says, and I feel as though a massive warm hand has taken my heart in its palm and squeezed. I open my mouth to tell her – well, I don’t know what I wanted to tell her.

The door behind us bangs open and I jump. “Everybody into the meeting room!” The Sergeant calls, and then me and Elena share a glance and file in along with everyone else.

“Hi guys,” Makado says, voice crackly on speakerphone, once the Sergeant’s confirmed that everyone’s inside. What passes next is about an hour of the dullest game of verbal chicken I’ve ever had the misfortune to be witness to. Makado is trying desperately to convince the team to keep on going, down to the barrows to get the crystal and then back up, and something about the subtle and quiet note of underlying nerves in her voice makes me realize something – she really doesn’t have any power over us.

I mean, think about it – what would she do if we all decided that we had had enough, that we weren’t going to go through with it, that we were just going to make our way back up to the surface and hit the canteen? She’d be furious, of course, she’d be beyond pissed at the team, but it isn’t like they were doing anything illegal. This is a company now, they’d get fired and life would move on. Maybe they wouldn’t even get fired; someone like Elena, for instance, someone with cave diving and rescue skills, would probably be impossible to promptly replace, if at all – maybe the Pit pays well, better than a place like the Coast Guard would, but you’d also have to find the people who can cave dive and don’t mind operating inside of a living nightmare like the Pit. Cuts an already slim pool in half, or more.

I think I understand now why Makado’s seemed always to behave so chummily with the people nominally under her command, something I’d noticed up on the surface; the few times she’d come to visit us in the barracks she was welcomed like one of the rangers, like a favorite boss who doesn’t rock the boat very much. It’s because as soon as the team is down here, doing something important, every decision from above becomes a negotiation instead of just an order to be obeyed.

And it also makes more sense to me why the Sergeant is such a hardass – if he’s the bad cop to Makado’s good cop, the people on the team are more likely to listen to her, just cause she’s more sympathetic – and then, double-duty, while they’re down here and under his command directly, they’re more likely to do what he says without any argument because they don’t want him pissed off at them.

Right now, though, it looks as though the Sergeant isn’t entirely holding up his end of the deal. He’s stood there like a statue for the last half an hour, only disappearing for a little bit towards the beginning to grab himself a cup of coffee, not uttering a word, his granite-like expression not slipping, not even a little. He ought to be cracking down on the dissent that’s being thrown her way but he’s not, he’s just letting Ellis and Fumi and Crookshank practically demand to know what is so goddam important about this fucking crystal that it was worth Slate dying for, and it’s got Makado in a bind because she very, very clearly does not want to tell us. She talks around it, never flat-out saying that she won’t but avoiding it. This goes on for a while until Crookshank, fuming, slams his hand on the table, making me jump. Elena, who’s been holding my hand in both of hers in her lap, glances over at me and squeezes my hand lightly, and when our eyes meet she gives me a faint smile.

“Makado,” Crookshank says, in a surprisingly level tone of voice, “if you can’t tell us what’s important about this crystal, we’re not going to get it for you.”

It would be Crookshank that put voice to it that baldly, but as I look around the table I see slow nods. “Yeah,” Fumi says, and although many of us glance over at the Sergeant, he remains silent.

Makado sighs and in it I can hear a note of defeat, trickling down plainly through however many hundreds of feet and flesh and rock.

“Alright,” she says softly.

The crystal is important, she says, because in the 2007 disaster the thing that they used to make the Pit stop from waking up entirely was an array of three carved crystals that had been found back in the 70s at the original Indian ritual grounds, and it had been determined through rigorous and secretive testing that striking the carved crystals produced vibrations of a certain wavelength impossible to replicate by any other means that exerted some sort of influence or control over the Pit. Striking them in a certain way could make it wake up, striking them in another way could make it convulse, and so on. These crystals had been incorporated into some sort of machine that was supposed to, if there ever was a disaster as serious as the one in 2007, spin the crystals up and strike a certain tone that would have been loud enough to pound downwards into whatever the Pit used for a brain and get it to go into a coma, or to kill it – they weren’t entirely sure.

The plan had worked, though not without a few hiccups, Makado says, but the biggest hiccup of all was that the crystals had shattered when that tone was struck, and since then this is the first time they’ve had one within their grasp. If they can get the crystal, get it up to the lab and carve it out the way the natives of the area must have, thousands if not tens of thousands of years ago, they might have another ace in the hole in case the Pit starts to wake up again.

I wonder, briefly, what might happen if a person were inside the Pit when that tone resounded through the creature, a tone so powerful it was able to knock out something like the Pit. I wonder about the cause of that mysterious psychic illness Peter and Makado had alluded to, I wondered about the nosebleeds Makado had told me about, when she was telling the story about the amalgam.

Perhaps -

“Because,” Makado says, “I’m not going to sugarcoat this – it is going to wake up. We’ve been hearing rumblings, down there in the depths, in the Gut and elsewhere, muscle contractions, palpitations, activity in areas that have lain dormant since 2007. I’ve been speaking to Science and their opinion is that the Pit is building up a tolerance to the sedative we use, and without that, all the other measures, the deliberate starvation, nerve clipping, muscle relaxants – they won’t be enough to stop something like 2007, or something worse, from happening again.”

I hear her blow out a big breath.

“I don’t know what it’ll be like if it wakes up again. You all know that the Pit’s too big to be ambulatory, but it’s got appendages it can move and feed with, and its size makes it a threat to a very big chunk of Texas if it were to be able to move them with coordination. Thanks to us, if it wakes up again, it’ll be hungry. You decide if it’s worth it.”

The line clicks off and we sit there in silence for a moment. The Sergeant levers himself off the wall and plonks his empty mug down on the table. “Think about it,” he says to all of us. “We’ll sleep here tonight and then tomorrow we’ll make a decision.”

So we sleep there tonight and tomorrow we make a decision. Despite the dead body in the Station nothing comes poking around to bother us, or at least if anything does it took one look at Joker and scampered off. Elena and I stayed up for a little but again we found that there was nothing to say; I contented myself with stroking my hands along the naked expanse of her body, not in a sexual way, just because I liked the way her skin felt beneath my fingertips. She held very still, a ghost of a smile fluttering over her lips. I found her hips and squeezed them, traced circles around her nipples, ran my hand down the toned flat expanse of her belly, the dark patch of stubble below beckoning me, but I controlled myself. I stared at it for a moment, then flicked my eyes up to her face, to her unruly mop of blonde hair.

Elena shifts her hands along my backside, squeezing at me, and I made a little noise deep in my throat. “You’re like a cat,” she told me. It’s the first thing either of us said  in about a half an hour. Her other hand was tucked up beneath me and tangled in my hair. I leant in and kissed her.

“Do you dye your hair?” I asked her, and she laughed.

“That’s such a random question.”

“I was curious.”

“I do,” she said.

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t like brown,” she said primly. I arched an eyebrow at her.

“I have brown hair,” I pointed out, and she smiled, looks up at it.

“Yes, you do. But it looks good on you.”

“I think you’d look good with brown hair.”

“We should go to sleep,” she told me. I pull her closer against me, knocking against one of the tent’s metal support struts with my elbow.

“Shit,” I grunt, and she laughed.

We said a few more things but nothing important. I kissed her on the neck and she giggled, and then we fell asleep, arms and legs tangled together like knots. I was afraid I’d dream but instead there was nothing, not even a sensation that I had dreamed and forgotten it as soon as I’d woken, just closing my eyes and then opening them when Elena had sat up, the alarm on her watch beeping at us. I looked at the shifting muscles in her back, at the long thin scar along one of her shoulder blades, and then I reached out for her and pulled her back down into me and nuzzled my face all along the soft, smooth places of her body and she kept laughing and saying that we had to get up, that it was going to be a long day, but I told her that if that was the case we ought to make the most of our morning, and she considered that and then turned with a feral grin and fell on me and all was well for a while.

Then, when we were through, we got dressed and clambered out of the tent and found that a consensus had been reached without us, although it was one we’d agreed with – that if Slate’s (presumed) death, and the (presumed) deaths of the other four people who worked at the Deep Listening Station, and the (definite) death of the one we’d found were to mean anything, were to be worth it – I felt something like a shudder at that phrase, at the notion of a death like that being ‘worth it’ – we would have to continue. If it was as important as Makado said, we would have to continue. And when the Sergeant told us this, that we’d been outvoted, he nodded to me and said that if I wanted to take Makado’s offer up anyway, she’d informed him that she’d be able to guide me up out of the darkness, and that nobody here would think anything less of me for taking the easy way out.

And then I looked at Elena and she’d looked at me, and I thought I saw something imploring in her eyes, so I looked away from her, but I couldn’t say anything to him, not just yet. I knew that we were going to make it to the barrows today and some freakish mortal fear had taken ahold of me and its teeth were so deep and cold and serrated that I didn’t trust myself to speak. I thought of the stories Peter and Makado had told me, I thought of poor Eileen, dragged off by a copepod, and for a moment I wanted so badly to say yes, okay, tap me out, I’m done, you guys have fun down here, but it passed quickly and replaced itself with something hard and cast-iron and heavy sinking into the pit of my stomach. It took me a moment to recognize it as determination, and then I was smiling at the Sergeant, I imagine rather beatifically.

“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Positive. Why dip out when it’s just getting exciting?”

And with that, after a little more puttering around and making sure everyone was collected and on the ball with what was to be done today, we took the second-largest vent out of Oyster’s Shame, leaving its spongy and beautiful luminescence behind, leaving the dead body behind, leaving, I certainly hoped, the Leechman behind, and began the long, slow, treacherous climb downwards to the copepod barrows.

Continue with Part 21

Back to Table of Contents

[raptorsandpoultry]

Protist parasites in poultry

Eimeria spp.

The most famous and problematic internal parasites in poultry are Eimeria spp., which belong to the Coccidia order of protists, or protozoa. These organisms are single-celled and possess unique mechanisms that enable them to penetrate a host animal’s cells, which they must infect in order to survive and reproduce.

The 4 most commonly known species of Eimeria in poultry are E. acervulina, E. maxima, E. necatrix, and E. tenella. All infect the lining cells of the small intestines or ceca (paired fermenting organs). Resulting clinical disease is an enteritis (inflammation of the intestines) and diarrhea, which may or may not be accompanied by hemorrhage, or internal bleeding. E. tenella and E. necatrix cause the most severe disease, featuring hemorrhage, anemia (lack of red blood cells), and death at around 6 days post-infection. Although mortality rates are very high, chicks that do survive develop immunity to future coccidia infections. Severe infections with the other species will mainly cause weight loss and decreased egg production. 

Coccidiosis largely results from current intensive rearing practices on commercial poultry farms - however, more instances of the disease do not occur due to the widespread and continual use of preventative anticoccidial drugs in feed. Outbreaks can still occasionally occur when drug-resistant strains of Eimeria emerge. Vaccination against coccidiosis tends to be reserved for “replacement” hens on egg-layer farms.

Cryptosporidium spp.

Distant relatives of coccidia, there are many species of Cryptosporidium, 2 of which - C. meleagridis and C. baileyi - commonly cause disease in farmed chickens and turkeys of all ages. The former tends to infect the small intestine and ceca, resulting in mild diarrhea, while the latter causes more harmful respiratory infections. Clinical signs include depression, coughing, sneezing, and gurgling, but do not usually result in death. 

There are no specific drugs or vaccines available for prevention or treatment of cryptosporidiosis - supportive care with fluid therapy is recommended if diarrhea is severe. Strict, sanitary housing and handling practices are key to prevention, especially since oocysts (eggs) of Cryptosporidium spp. are resistant to most common disinfectants. Like Eimeria spp., diagnosis of cryptosporidiosis is confirmed by finding oocysts in microscopic examination of feces, or in the case of C. baileyi, nasal discharge.

Trichomonas gallinae

T. gallinae is found in chickens and turkeys, and is very common in pigeons. It infects the mouth, sinuses, throat, esophagus, crop, and proventriculus (the first component of the stomach in birds, which is usually followed by the gizzard). In pigeons, infection primarily occurs through direct oral transmission from parents to their offspring during the feeding of “crop milk”, or regurgitated crop contents. Early lesions are yellow to white areas that later become raised and necrotic “buttons” of dying tissue. “Wild” or feral pigeons are the usual source of infection.

Histomonas meleagridis

This “cosmopolitan” parasite infects the ceca and liver of virtually all gallinaceous fowl, including chicken, peafowl, guineafowl, pheasant, grouse, quail, and backyard turkeys in particular. Direct fecal-oral transmission is possible, but the more common route of infection is through the ingestion of the eggs of Heterakis gallinarum worms. H. meleagridis is ingested by the worm, penetrates its tissues, and then multiplies within the larval worms while they are still within their eggshells. These eggs are then ingested by earthworms, which are finally preyed upon by backyard birds, releasing H. meleagridis into their digestive tracts. The resulting disease is called blackhead, infectious enterohepatitis, or histomoniasis. Chickens generally do not present with any signs unless they are very young. Turkeys of all ages are affected, however, and the disease can kill young poults. The parasites kill liver cells, and two to three weeks later turkeys will look very sick, with ruffled feathers, drooping wings and tail feathers, and sometimes darkened skin around the head (hence “blackhead” disease). Foul-smelling, sulfur-coloured diarrhea is another characteristic sign of the disease.

Metronidazole, or “Flagyl” is a drug that is available for off-label use to treat histomoniasis, but is prohibited in birds raised for food production. Thus, control is generally aimed at preventative measures that restrict contact with infected soil (this also is why many people recommend that backyard chickens and turkeys should not be allowed to free-range over the same areas). Anthelminthics, or de-worming drugs, can also help by getting rid of Heterakis worms that harbour the parasites in the first place.

[prider-parker-imaginations]

Imagine being with Grimble for his last stand against Nyra.

It had been a long time since you had had hope. Seeing Soren and Gylfie had helped remind you of that. Helping them was almost like healing. It was a way to reassure yourself that somewhere, deep down, despite everything you had done in service to the Pure Ones, you could still do something good. You could still put something into the world that wasn’t more pain. You could help these two escape.

Nyra had other plans.

“Go!” Grimble cried, already engaging the first Pure One in a flurry of talons and feathers. A screech tore from your throat as you threw yourself at the other one before he could grab Soren, locking your talons with his battle claws. Your wings flared as you swung him around, loose pages fluttering in the wake of your strokes. You used his momentum against him, crashing the soldier into a pile of books that send him sprawling.

“Your little owlets won’t get away,” the confidence in Nyra’s voice made you bristle as you moved to stand by Grimble, beak parted in a hiss.

“Go,” the grizzled owl growled again, barely sparing you a glance. His eyes stayed locked on Nyra.

“I’m not leaving you,” you shot back, already rising to meet her attack. You slashed at her with your talons, dancing through the confined space, just out of each other’s reach. Every second you kept her occupied here was another second that Soren and Gylfie could use to escape. Your wing stretched out, striking Nyra across the chest as her talons scored down your breast, pulling loose down and feathers and blood. You cried out and she struck you, sending you reeling. You landed hard in a pile of books, the air knocked from your lungs. Then Grimble was there, his head cracking into Nyra’s and his wing knocking her flat on her back.

You could hear Soren calling for his brother as you struggled back upright, panting.

“Well, what are you waiting for, son? This is your chance to go home!” Grimble shouted at the young Tyto, voice strained with the effort of holding down the struggling Nyra. Kludd looked confused, his chest rising and falling as he tried to take in what was happening.

Then his expression hardened and your gizzard dropped. “I am. I am home,” he said, his posture turning aggressive as he screed at Grimble.

Nyra took her chance. Grimble landed heavily and your eyes widened as you heard the crunch of his wing.

“Would you wound your queen, Grimble?”

“You’re not my queen!” Grimble snarled, knocking a candle into a pile of books. The fire caught the parchment and then the room was in flames. Nyra didn’t seem to care, simply lifting off to fly above the growing fire to follow the two owlets you were so desperate to save.

“No!” you shouted, throwing yourself against her, heedless of the flames that licked at your feathers. Your talons locked with hers, the two of you flailing and clawing at each other, her momentum carrying you towards the cliff’s edge. Somewhere during your tumble, Grimble had clawed his way onto Nyra’s back in a flurry of feathers and anger. And then you were tumbling through open air, the three of you locked together. Your entire world had narrowed down to Soren and Gylfie, catching tiny glimpses of them as you plummeted end over end into the abyss. Whatever happened, they had to escape.

Two more Pure One guards appeared, their talons scoring your smoldering wings, pulling you away from Grimble and Nyra. You screeched and struggled, tried to batter at them with your tattered, smoking wings, all the while looking for the owlets. How far had they made it? The pain was making it hard to think.

“Go, go tell the Guardians!” Grimble called out above the haze in your mind. You managed to break free of the Pure One holding you and flared your flickering wings but they wouldn’t catch the wind. Your strength was fading fast but then you caught sight of them again, one last time as you plummeted, and you allowed yourself a small smile. They were flying. Even if it only lasted this long and no longer, they were free. And so were you, even as the flames engulfed you and you fell.

Gif Credit: Grimble

[quinnred]

Natural Selection 2 Redesign: Lerk

The Lerk is the only known avian form of the Hive strain Kharaa, able to fly short distances with modified forelimbs and cling to advantageous surfaces with sticky feet. Much of the head has developed for ranged combat, with massive pneumatic veins pumping pressurized air into two modified upper mandibles that act as organic gun barrels, loaded with dart like teeth, ready to detach and fire at enemies. Large eyes give the Lerk greater accuracy with it's darts. A gizzard at the base of the neck generates toxic spore clusters that the Lerk can regurgitate and smother an area in toxins. If brought into close quarters the Lerk's lower mandibles hold venomous glands that deliver a debilitating bite that will eventually kill an enemy of the hive.

[kitchenmachinery]

How to Grind Chicken in a Meat Grinder

Meat grinders offer the very best when it comes to food customization. Instead of relying on premade minces at the grocery store, you can create your own custom-made meats whenever you want. You have full control over the meats you use, the fat content, the flavor, and so much more.

While many home chefs turn to grinders for processing beef, pork, and trophy meats, they're fully capable of handling chicken, too. Lean options like chicken and turkey offer up a healthier alternative to red meats. It's a versatile food that easily absorbs seasonings and marinades. So, why not toss it in your grinder?

With chicken's flexibility and many health benefits, it's the ideal meat to use in your grinder. Ground chicken can be used as a beef substitute for everything from chili to meatballs.

Grinding chicken isn't difficult. However, there are some notable differences compared to the ground meats you're used to. Chicken has a unique texture and reacts differently to the grinding process.

Why Grind Chicken?

Before we get into how to grind chicken, is it even worth the effort? Red meats like beef, pork, and lamb are revered for their flavors. They're the go-to for those looking to indulge. However, chicken offers a ton of great benefits. Grinding the meat up and using it in creative ways only helps you take advantage of those benefits even more.

1. It Has Less Saturated Fats

Research shows that chicken has lower levels of saturated fats than beef and pork. Saturated fats are considered "bad fats" because they can increase your chances of heart disease and other cardiovascular problems.

A standard skinless chicken breast only has about 1 gram of saturated fat in it. Meanwhile, a beef flank can have as much as 13 grams! If you're looking to stay healthy, ground chicken in the way to go.

2. Chicken is Better for Your Cholesterol

Speaking of saturated fats, ground red meats are notorious for causing cholesterol spikes. Not only do they have more cholesterol in them naturally, but the saturated fats aren't doing you any favors either!

Saturated fats can increase bad cholesterols and lower good cholesterols in your body. So, that mince chuck you use in your gourmet burgers can affect your health later on in life.

3. It's More Versatile

Moving away from the health benefits of chicken, one reason you might want to grind chicken is that it's much more versatile than the alternatives. This is especially true when it comes to taste. Red meat is packed with natural flavors that are brought out when you toss them on the grill. Unfortunately, that can cause spices to fall by the wayside.

When you make ground chicken, you can finally let those flavors shine through. Chicken accepts marinade and seasoning very well, making it easy to create meatballs, sausages, and patties packed with extra zest.

4. It's More Affordable

Finally, chicken is much more affordable than other options. Ground chuck and premium cuts can cost you a pretty penny. Utilizing chicken in your meat grinder will help you save a fortune while still getting the finished product you're after.

What You Should Know About Grinding Chicken

With the right equipment, grinding chicken is a fun and easy process. Grinders make quick work of the job and can provide you with mince that you can use in a wide range of recipes.

That said, there are some important things about ground chicken that you need to know.

1. Texture Is Crucial

First things first, let's talk about texture. Chicken is notorious for becoming gummy and paste-like when it's over-processed. The delicate protein fibers get pulverized quickly by a grinder's blade. If you're not careful, you may end up with something that closely resembles baby food rather than meat mince!

Our best advice would be to take things slow and consider the end results for your mince. You can use a coarse grinding plate to get a firmer texture that's good for burgers and meatballs. If you want your chicken to be more compact, the fine grinding plate will do.

Whatever you choose to make, just make sure that you grind sparingly. This isn't a muscle that you can put through the grinder more than once.

2. White Meat is Leaner

The unique thing about chicken is that fat content varies based on what part of the body the meat is coming from!

If you want to control how much fat is in your mince, you might want to stick to white meat. This includes flesh from the breast and wing.

3. Dark Meat is More Flavorful

While white meat may be leaner, dark meat has more natural flavor. Chicken thighs and legs are fattier and tend to be more savory. You can blend white and dark to get a nice balance between that works for your needs.

4. You Don't Have to Stick to Traditional Cuts

The beauty of using a meat grinder is that you can easily blend meats to create a mince that's perfect. In addition to mixing white and dark meats, you can toss in other parts of the chicken. Adding some pieces of gizzard or liver you take full advantage of what the bird has to offer while improving texture and taste.

What We Recommend

LEM Products #32 Commercial Meat Grinder

"strong, reliable commercial meat grinder"

Check Latest Price

There's no shortage of quality meat grinders on the market today. While any manual or electric grinder can get the job done, we recommend the LEM Products #32 grinder.

It's a stainless steel machine that has a ton of great features to make grinding meat much easier. First, it's packing a lot of power. The electric motor outputs 1.5 horsepower, which is more than enough to handle chicken.

Secondly, the grinder is purpose-built to help you finish large batches in a short amount of time. The auger is a bit longer than most. Not only that, but it has LEM Product's "Big Bite" technology.

There's a sizable gap between the teeth of the auger. It's located right under the hopper tube. This gap grabs onto large chunks without any issues. It'll push the meat to the spinning knife without any intervention from you. It's safe, quick, and very effective.

Best Tips When Getting Started

For the most part, grinding chicken at home is no different that grinding something like beef chuck.

After assembling the meat grinder, you should take some time to prepare the meat:

Start out by removing the meat from the bone. You can also get rid of the skin. Though, the choice to do so is entirely up to you. Slices of skin may help to improve the taste and feel of the mince.

Once you have removed the slices of meat from the bone, use a sharp blade to cut the meat up into cubes. Small 1 or 2-inch cubes will put less strain on your grinder.

At this point, you can apply the dry seasoning. Feel free to get creative here! Add some salt and your favorite spices. This will make the meat extra flavorful whenever you cook it on the grill or stove.

Now, arrange the meat into smaller batches and place them in the freezer. Our advice would be to freeze the meat for 15 to 20 minutes. This will make the chicken firmer and reduce your chances of turning the meat into a paste in the grinder.

After about 20 minutes, you're finally ready to grind. Place a large bowl beneath the grinding plates, flip the switch, and slowly load the chunks of chicken into the hopper. It's as easy as that!

Conclusion

Ground chicken has a lot to offer your favorite recipes. It's a healthier alternative that can be just as tasty as the standard foods you grind at home. Give it a shot and see for yourself!

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Why Grind Chicken?

What You Should Know About Grinding Chicken

What We Recommend

Key Features

Benefits and Drawbacks

Best Tips When Getting Started

Conclusion

"strong, reliable commercial meat grinder"

LEM Products #32 Commercial Meat Grinder

Check Latest Price

The post How to Grind Chicken in a Meat Grinder appeared first on Kitchen Machinery.

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[nbula-rising]

Chicken and Andouille Gumbo - Emeril Lagasse Prep Time: 30 minutes, plus time to make the chicken stock Total Time: About 3 1/2 hours Yield: 4 1/2 quarts, 8 to 10 servings Ingredients 1 recipe Rich Chicken Stock, with reserved chicken meat ** 1 cup vegetable oil 1 cup all-purpose flour 3 medium onions, chopped 2 ribs celery, finely chopped 3 tablespoons minced garlic 1 green bell pepper, seeded and finely chopped 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper, plus more to taste 1 1/2 pounds andouille sausage, cut into 1⁄3-inch-thick rounds 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, plus more to taste 3/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1 bay leaf 1 bunch green onions, thinly sliced 1/3 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley Cooked white rice, for serving Louisiana hot sauce, for serving Filé powder, for serving (optional) Directions Make the Rich Chicken Stock and reserve the shredded chicken meat and broth as the recipe instructs. If using it the same day, let the broth cool before starting the gumbo. With the oil and flour, make a roux the color of milk chocolate. Immediately add the onions, celery, garlic, bell pepper, cayenne, and sausage, and cook, stirring, until the vegetables are softened, 5 to 7 minutes. If the broth has cooled by this time, add it to the roux mixture along with the salt, black pepper, and bay leaf, and bring to a gentle simmer. Continue to simmer, skimming any foam or excess oil that comes to the top, until the sauce is flavorful and thickened to the desired consistency, and any trace of floury taste is gone, about 2 hours. Add the chicken, green onions, and parsley to the gumbo and continue to simmer about 30 minutes longer. Don’t stir too much or the chicken will fall apart into shreds. Adjust the thickness, if necessary, by adding water or more broth. Adjust the seasoning with salt and cayenne as needed. Serve the gumbo in shallow bowls over hot white rice. Have the hot sauce and filé at the table for guests to use to their liking. Note: In Louisiana, everyone has his or her own preference when it comes to gumbo thickness. This one is about middle of the road, which is the way I prefer it—not too brothy and not too thick. It is easy to adjust the thickness by using less broth for a thicker gumbo and/or adding more for a thinner consistency. **Rich Chicken Stock Prep Time: 15 minutes Total Time: 1 1/2 hours Yield: about 4 quarts Ingredients One 4- to 5-pound chicken 2 quarts store-bought chicken stock or low-sodium chicken broth 2 quarts water 2 medium onions, quartered 2 carrots, roughly chopped 2 ribs celery, roughly chopped 4 cloves garlic, smashed 4 sprigs fresh thyme 5 or 6 fresh parsley stems 2 bay leaves 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper Directions Rinse the chicken well under cool running water and remove the neck, gizzard, heart, and liver from the cavity if present. Place the chicken in a large stockpot or Dutch oven along with any parts (except the liver; it can give the stock a bitter taste), and cover with the stock and water. Add the remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil, partially cover, and reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook for 1 hour; at that point, the chicken should easily pull away from the bones. Using tongs, remove the chicken from the stock and set aside until cool enough to handle. Strain the cooking liquid through a fine-mesh strainer lined with cheesecloth, discarding the vegetables. Pull the chicken meat off the bones, discarding the bones, skin, and any fat. Shred and reserve the meat, and refrigerate until needed. Cool the stock, then store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days or the freezer for 6 months.