Your post about RIP Lamie on PfP made me laugh and cringe at the same time. It reminded me of a chicken story that who knows, I may have told before, but I am tired of worrying about that. Anyone who has stuck with DAR long enough for repeats must like me in spite of my failing memory.
Every Easter we went to the hardware store and bought a couple of chicks. Most of them didn't make it very long; I suppose hauling them around in my doll carriage contributed to their early demise. But one tough old male managed to grow all those bright feathers and red things that roosters do and even crow in the morning on occasion. One day when my mother and I and the rooster (I have no idea what the rooster was doing with us) were visiting our neighbors, my mother said something about not knowing how to get rid of the rooster, and the neighbor's son, who was probably in his early 20s and had black greasy hair and tight jeans, said he did, walked over to the rooster, picked it up and swung it around til its head came off. At least that's how I remember it -- a headless chicken running around in circles, and my mother standing there going, oh dear, and me screaming hysterically.
They arrested that boy later-- not for killing my chicken, although he should have been, but because he was a "bad boy". Whatever that meant in 1955.
As I type, I am having an unwelcome revelation about why the rooster went visiting with us and it may change my filial affections forever. |
