Jeff felt the farmer's wife's right hand reach in and pull out his organs, discarding them into the nearby kitchen trash can. He saw her walk in front of him, over to the sink, rinse her hands and grab a large butcher's knife. She was quite an attractive lady, a tall, thin brunnete, Jeff quickly observed, maybe 10 years or so younger than the farmer. She returned, set the knife alongside the chicken, grabbed him with both hands and dislodged his right thigh from it's socket. She pinned his excruciatingly painful and broken joint down against the cutting board with her left hand, while she picked the knife back up with her right, immediately pressing it into the joint, then bringing her left hand over to press down on the back of the knife, severing the thigh from the chicken's body. She did the same with the left thigh, each wing and then brought the knife up, inserted it skillfully along the right side of his spine and used her left arm's strength to pivot the knife down and through his body, breaking his right breast away from his left. She did the same to separate his left breast from what little remained of his torso, and gently set the knife back down. While Jeff felt each painful bit of this process, and lay on the board, agonizing and shocked as hell, terrified at what this woman had just done and must have planned for him, the one thing he was thankful for was that she was quick about it. Living on the farm, and having raised a small family, she was a real pro at preparing such a meal. She had that chicken cleaned out and quartered in under a minute. Jeff could still see and hear from what was left of his spine & neck, laying sideways on the slightly bloodied board now but he could feel everything, everywhere.