The next morning, the headless chicken was still proudly strutting around as if nothing had happened. Surprised and curious, the Olsens began feeding it, dripping a gruel of crushed grain and water down its throat, to see how long it could survive. And the rooster thrived—as much as it could without a head—climbing onto perches, making gurgling noises in an attempt to crow, and futilely attempting to preen its feathers with its phantom head. (Read the whole story here...)
Well, today, Abel's chicken, Polka Dot, lost his head. The poor chicken was stumbling around the yard today looking seriously mangy and haggard, so Abel and I decided it was time to say goodbye. Abel didn't want to wring it's neck, and I was scared I might not be strong enough to swing my machete with enough force to make a clean chop. So, we called our friend, Ed. Ed is big and strong, but seeing that this was his first time to ever raise his hand to the chopping block, it took him three hard swings to finish the deed. It was pretty gross. But Abel, the good farmer, stood next to Ed and participated. I made barbecue chicken for dinner (not Polka Dot!) but Abel won't eat chicken tonight!
The last time I wanted to kill my chickens, I couldn't find one friend to come over and execute my machete, so I ended up calling the animal control. One hilarious afternoon, 4 men in full on hazard suits, breathing like Darth Vader, descended on my backyard and exterminated our 6 chickens with tanks full of poisonous gas and hauled them off in a huge white medical truck. That was embarrassing! But the event lends itself to great story telling, for sure.
1 comments:
Hummmm....could I eat Polka Dot? Don't know!
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