On the Farm

The Rooster

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.

Seems that being a farm kid did not toughen me up at all. In fact, watching my mother kill and cut up a chicken, full of bloody red eggs, soon to be laid, put me off eggs for about 10 years. 

Put me off eating chicken for a while too.

 

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  1. Something similar happened to me when I was working as a groom at Rockingham Park in Salem NH. A couple of us from the shed row went to the track’s first turn to watch one of our horses run. A horse stumbled and went down. He was hauled away.
    That Saturday when we made our trip to the local grocery store, there was horse meat in the cooler. It was during the time of the beef shortage. I became a vegetarian that day.

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