My dad bought 50 chicks every year. Usually leghorns. We raised up for a while, then kept the hens, and slaughtered the others. We had gobs of eggs. The slaughter was an assembly line affair.
Dad chopped off the heads.
I retrieved them, dunked them in hot water and pulled the feathers.
Mom did a quick field dressing, then later cleaned them a little bit more for the freezer.
I was then in charge of burning the feathers and cleaning up. Had to bury all the guts, etc. We would have a wash tube of that stuff.
I always dreaded it, but loved eating the fresh meat. We seemed to freeze about 30-40 birds a year. Not a one left when the next bunch was ready to put up.
Damn, Brother. Same here. Dad would grab a chicken by the head. Twirl it like a towel. 'Ringed it's neck'
Mom had the pot of hot water ready.
Me, I was the feather puller. Guts went to the dog or thrown out way yonder. Where it didn't stink before the foxes got it.