Mom and the Chicken

Hey, this posting stuff can be fun! Here's a short little memory from way back. When we were young we spent a lot of time with dad's sister, Ruth, and her family. I think at this time it was just Melody, Crystal, and me; Mike, Robin, and Sue had yet to be born. We had a lot of fun; I wish we had remained that close with our cousins. Aunt Ruthie and Uncle Smokey - along with children Donna, Dawn, Rickey, and Raymond (Debbie wasn't born yet) - lived on a farm near the place where I was born. On this particular day we were having chicken for dinner. And like on most farms, the chicken was fresh - I mean, REALLY fresh. Seems mom either volunteered or was given the responsibility of killing the chicken. Now, my memory of this occasion is scant, but I remember there being a stump in the yard with nail in it to hold the neck of the chicken. I remember mom holding the hatchet and striking down on the chicken. I also remember, along with all of the other kids, watching a chicken, its head still attached and dragging on the ground, running around the yard. This was my first exposure to the fact that chickens are sometimes too dumb to realize they're dead. And my first real exposure to the realities of life on a farm.