Category H: bird parts.

This group is small.

H1 head of duck  wšn  that's w-sh-n, could be useful triliteral. Abbreviation for "birds" 3pdw that's ah-p-e-w. 

H2 head of crested bird ma^c  that's ma-eh 

H3 spoonbill's head p3q that's p-ah-q

H4 vulture's head determinative mrw, I'm thinking merow for "dread"  

H5 wing dnḥ, that's d-n-ech sound

H6 feather, š w,  schwe

H6a same

H7 bird's leg Š3t, sh-ah-t

H8 egg swḥṯ, that's sw-heh-th

This is my least favorite group hardly worth talking about. I'll regale you with two incredibly stupid bird part related stories instead. Both are true. Both are embarrassing. Both make me dislike bird parts. 

I am brought to room with other children and placed at a school desk. A woman is teaching the whole class a song. But it is not school, it is not church, it is nothing I know. It is some transitional thing. Whatever it is, this is the only such class. A few women are managing the class only one, a guest it seems is teaching us a song. 

I ask, "What does Alouette mean?" 

"It means "lark" 

"What's a lark?" 

"A bird." 

You see where this is going. I don't care for the explanation. You don't taunt your food as you prepare it. It's equivalent is using a frying chicken as hand puppet, or the goldfish in a blender gag. And it isn't just me thinking it either, none of us could understand this. For some reason adults want this song to be sung in innocent children's voices to add to the contrast, I suppose.

So there's that. 

Then some fifteen years later there is the chicken fryer vs chicken roaster experiment. 

I didn't know what I was doing. I saw Julia Child butcher a chicken and recommend it. I was trying to learn, trying to understand the difference between things. I didn't have the right tools. My knife was wrong, my cutting surface was wrong, my technique was wrong, my understanding to that point was wrong. 

And crucially, Jeffrey Dahmer was in the news at the time.

I thought butchers chopped through the bone, not between the bones, and I didn't know how to find the in-between spot anyway (by bending it).  I made a hack job of the tougher roaster bird after having no trouble with the fryer. All my chopping was making a splattering mess of things and I knew that wasn't right, something wet hit my face and my interest in finishing waned but I pushed through chopping and hacking at bone with the wrong knife, hardly getting anywhere with it, making a huge slippery mess all the while thinking "c'mon, dismember this thing."  The word "dismember" kept rolling though mind as I chopped futilely, dismember, chop, dismember, chop, dismember, chop, dismember, chop, I felt the blood drain from my head and my gyroscope going, I had to sit down right now. 

But my hands have chicken slime smeared all over them. My head is on the dining room table now rolling back to its senses, and my hands are held in the air, and I'm thinking, "You crazy bitch, you said this is fun!" 

Then get back to the business of bird parts.