I was reading this post over at The Ranch on Salmon Creek and was inspired to (over)share of bit of my own Adventures in Ick.
And it's late so my mush-brain posting may be a bit sporadic.
I have three sisters. We are all married. My father, two of my brother-in-laws and my husband all hunt...avidly. *some more than others, but that will become evident I'm sure*
My dad likes hunting, but LOVES fishing. I grew up fishing. I also grew up cleaning my own fish. Pulling it's guts out; not washing it with soap and water. (told you this would be gross) But even before I was old enough to be trusted with a knife I still got to play with fish innards. Why? Because I was curious. because my dad caught lots of fish. and because I stuck to him like a tick on a dog.
But I didn't play with just any fish organ. I went straight for the heart. Anybody else hear that song? no? just me? Moving on. I liked the heart because it would often still be beating when I got my dirty little hands on it. Holding that little triangularish heart in my hand, I would watch it beat until it stopped. It always amazed me that it could still beat even after being cut from the fish. Until one of them squirted blood all over me. I wasn't so keen on them after that.