Granny The Chickenslayer

"Chicken Fly High
Chicken Fly Low
Fly By Granny
Fly No Mo!"

This is the only reason, excuse, or pardon I can think of
for what became a weekly event. But this act was deemed
necessary and was accepted by all who lived with Granny.

Having what was called a normal child's curiosity, chickens
fascinated me. I can remember watching them strut freely
in the yard as entertainment, similar to the way kids today
watch cartoons on TV They were funny looking over-sized
birds with a sharp beak, which protuded out from beneath
two beady eyes. And some had a little "whats-it" dangling
beneath their chin, which seemed to have no purpose at all.
Sort of like it started out to be something and changed it's mind.
Atop it's head sat a bright red warty looking mass of material
mistakenly called a "comb!" Probably the cruelest joke of all in
a chicken's genetics, because it was positioned in such a place,
the chicken didn't even know it was there! And even if it did,
what good was a comb to a chicken? He had no hands!
But it did have feet! Crusty little toes, and a toenail sticking
out the back with no place to go.

 Clucking and pecking the groundthey roamed aimlessly around
the yard, and always seemed to be muttering something.
Occasionally this produced a payoff though, for to find
a little "doo-doo"or "gah-gah"  - their own or left by another,
just put them in "chicken bliss."

But they were fun to watch and a chicken laying an egg was
entertainment at it's best. It was a different "bw-a-aak" when
they were laying eggs. More like an ear piercing cackle as she
eased up her backside and an egg would drop out.
 I use to think they carried their eggs under their wings.
In retrospect and after I "gave birth" the first time, I know
what all the screeching was about.
 It was "chickenese" for
"GIVE ME MORPHINE!"
 

chicken feathers. I can still hear the "hiss" when the carcass
was dipped in the pot, and the ripping of the feathers when
they were plucked. This was if Grandpa had chopped their
heads off. Grandpa could plop them down with one hand and
with a downswing of the axe Whop!
 Before the chicken has time to think about it, he stops thinking.
 But Granny gave true meaning to "running like a chicken with
 it's head cut off."
She could grab a chicken and swing it around with the skill
of a highly trained martial arts expert. SNAP!!

 And then.......
came the flopping!! It was one of the scariest things I can
remember. These undead things flopped endlessly all around
the yard until somebody could catch it. They use to tell us
that chickens really could run with their heads cut off!!
Well if that be the case why didn't these ghouls run? If they
could flop so furiously, why didn't they just get up and run?
 
A high speed chicken in pretty good shape, just a floppy head
and no brain! Or as in some cases..no head at all!!

But as with the story of the pig, my fear of this "booger-thing" was soon
soothed. Fried chicken at Aunt Ethel Mae's on Sunday helped
put it aside.

But in all fairness to the chickens, without them,
I don't think we would have mastered the English language.
We wouldn't have even been able to communicate.!

We learned
of being "mad as an old wet hen", or as friendly as an
"old settin' hen".
Or that some men were "hen-pecked", or were described as
 "a fox in a chicken coop". Men had lots of descriptions;
 "the cock of the wall", some had "hen-house ways",
some "strutted like a barnyard rooster", and some like my daddy
"flew the coop!"

 People back then went "to bed with the chickens".
Probably because things were going to "come home to roost."
You could look, feel, or be "like a plucked chicken." Or you
might hop around like a "little banty rooster."

 "A peck on the cheek" was good, but if you "pecked at your food"
 you would get a "peck on the head." You could "get your
 feathers ruffled" or "cause feathers to fly" if you were
 "feathering your nest" and learned that what you had was
 "chicken feed" compared to someone else's "nest egg."

 There were times we felt "all cooped up",
but it was probably just "something in our craw",
 knowing you were not a "spring chicken" anymore and still
 not at the top of the "pecking order".

 You might care forsomeone like "an old mother hen",
 but you were never to tease,calling someone "little bitty baby",
 "chicken- livered" just plain "chicken-n-n", which was really a scaredy cat,
or even a "chicken s--t."

 And last but not least, a lesson learned at
Granny's knee,
"never count your chickens before they hatch."
I wonder if chickens ever made that ghastly mistake?

I miss you even today, Granny...

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