What are you lookin' at?

We usually reserve Sundays for church, family time, and a fine meal any grandma would be proud of.  This Sunday was no exception.  I went to Costco, scored a plump bird, and couldn't wait to feast on it's marinated juiciness whilst my husband raved on and on about my culinary skillz!  That is, until I opened the package and found this:

My precious, impressionable daughter was helping in the kitchen, all innocent in her apron until she saw real-life spread out before her.  Hovering between fascination and sheer horror she emphatically proclaimed "I WILL NOT eat it's privates Mom!!"  Fair enough.  I wouldn't either, although it would be fun to see Shaun have a go at them.

I got over the trauma of decapitating clucky with my kitchen shears, rubbed him down with seasoning, and plopped him in the oven.  An hour and a half later we were good to go, the cluckster was nicely browned and smelling fine, and Sunday dinner was BACK in all it's glory, and quite good I might add. 

Then, Shaun went and ruined it for all of us.  Upon the final dissection of the bird, he found these tucked neatly inside:

It's. . . THE CLAW!!

After enduring my husband's tirade concerning chickens, scratching claws, and poop, I was quite certain clucky was about to make a reappearance at the porcelain throne.  Needless to say, he will not be gracing our Sunday table ever, EVER again.  Sorry Grandma.  Sweet husband dearest, do you want the left-overs for lunch??