Chickens

Lora over at VitaFamiliae is experiencing some chicken woes. Read up. It's comical. But only if you are on our side of the screen. All her chicken stewing got me to remembering my own traumas, though.

We lived in rural Mississippi for a few years when I was a little kid. (Is there anything but rural in Mississippi?) Some family friends of ours had some land and on it they kept horses, their pet cow named Bull, some chickens, a dog, a few cats, a son , and a daughter. (Sorry Theresa & Billy, but you classified as part of the crazed animal population in those days) They may have had other animals, but I have forgotten a lot of things.

Now, my Mom, having been raised around such things, thought I would enjoy learning how chickens went from the yard to the dinner table, so she sent me out one fine evening to 'help'. Sigh. I am scarred for life because of this. My Daddy and Johnny and I trotted off to the coop, where I guess the men delicately chose our dinner (or maybe just which ever poor chicken they could grab first, I dunno). I don't remember much, truth be told. All I know is that you apparently have to behead a chicken before you do anything else to get dinner under way.

If you have never witnessed this, let me tell you folks, chickens actually do run around with their heads cut off. That isn't just a quaint little colloquialism. It's a fact. And not only do they run around, but they chase red-headed little girls!

As you can well imagine, I was a tad upset (read - terrified). What was that thing coming at me and why were those men just standing there letting it?

I understand I didn't eat much for dinner that night.