It came a bit earlier than we expected- one of our meat birds was acting funny- not moving, shivering and generally not acting right. Rather than letting it suffer (and most likely die anyway), the Mr. culled it and it's in the fridge now waiting for the grill. It's way smaller than we would have liked, but that's to be expected since they're not destined for the table for a few more weeks.
He said that he learned a few things- namely, that a chicken neck doesn't have much resistance when pitted against a grown man (we decided that breaking it's neck is more humane than slitting it's throat and less messy than chopping the head off).
So it's done- the first kill. It still felt awful, but I keep reminding myself that a chicken still dies when we buy it at the store. Being oblivious to the fact that it dies doesn't do anyone a lick of good. At least this way, we know that the chicken was cared for well during it's short life and that it died respectfully.