In the aftermath of our failed egg farm we always had some chickens running around loose.

My mother would collect their eggs and once in a while grab one, chop off its head with an ax, and it would be dinner.

But there was one rooster in the flock.

He was a very large, aggressive fellow and he used to chase me around quite a bit.

And, as with Mr. Goat, my mother got tired of this and grabbed up the rooster and chopped off his head. 

I think he did run around the yard for a while headless; hence the expression.

As a little boy I was not happy to see the rooster killed off that way. In fact, I thought it was scary and violent. In his strange way, he was sort of my playmate, though a bully. 

Somehow this experience reminds me of my brother Fred’s favorite quote by Oscar Wilde: “In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.”

“Yes, the rooster scared me, but gee Mom, I didn’t want you to kill it.” This was what I might have told my mother if I understood it back then.

(A version of this first appeared in my Farm memories.)