There are many times I’ve come home to see my host father butchering some type of animal. We had cow at my sister’s wedding, pig at my brother’s graduation and the occasional villager will purchase a sheep, which always comes dead.
“I can slaughter a sheep. I can slaughter a horse. I can slaughter a cow. I can even slaughter a man,” my host father gleam proudly. I tell him he shouldn’t boast the last one too much.