Tribute:
There are stories of some armies in South America giving their soldiers puppies to raise and nurture. After a year they are forced to kill their dog to prove their mettle as killers.
Canada’s version was to give us each a grouse. Those feathery friends were thankfully in our lives for little more than an hour –– less time than they would spend in our bellies. While most of our platoon was allowed to chop their heads off with an axe, my section participated in a tribute.

Our section commander, Mcpl. Turtle, was an aging skid and a huge Black Sabbath fan, so as a tribute to Ozzy we were ordered to bite the heads off the live birds.
As my teenage teeth sank into the grouse’s neck I was mostly surprised at how warm and soft it was (imagine biting into a heated, feathery Twinkie). Perhaps the hollow bones helped.
Though much has faded, I can close my eyes right now [right now] and feel the warmth, the fuzziness, the ease with which I performed my first kill for the infantry.