Pluck reminds me of my childhood living on the farm. I was born in the early 1950s. We were a small family so everyone pitched in on the farm. We each had our designated chores which was vital for running a farm. We raised cattle, pigs and chickens. Every spring mama would order baby chicks through the mail. We would feed and take care of the chicks until they were big enough to prepare for the freezer. Papa would chop their heads off, my sisters and I would gather the chickens and put them in the big black wash pot filled with boiling water (which as I look back now it was like something out of the chain saw massacre chicken style). By dunking the chickens in the boiling water made it much easier to pluck off the feathers. To pluck feathers from chickens must be what horror stories are made from.