I was 8 years old and my sister was right around 2 when we went to Grandma's house for a holiday dinner. Grandma lived on a farm and did her own cooking. All 9 aunts and uncles were going to be there with their families, everybody bringing a dish or two, and Grandma decided she needed another chicken to serve.
So, I was curious to see what she was going to do and I followed her out, and of course my sister wanted to go wherever me and my younger brother went, and we wanted to go watch Grandma get a chicken. We figured she kept a spare freezer out in the barn or something.
What we didn't know was that the chicken she was going to get was one of the ones still in the coop.
Grandma, without hesitation, clambered into the coop, grabbed a chicken by the neck, and swung it around above her head like a lasso, then threw it down on the ground to let it finish out its death throes.
I was stunned, but also fascinated by the sight of this chicken dying. Only the chicken wasn't exactly dead.
As soon as the carcass hit the ground, the autonervous system of the chicken kicked in and pulled the body upright, flapping its wings and moving its legs along, running full-speed around the yard with its hand dangling around like a gold necklace.
Right at my mortified sister.
She screamed, then turned and ran around the yard, pursued by a dying chicken with its head flopping around. She was absolutely terrified. Her little stubby 2-year-old toddler legs couldn't propel her fast enough to get away from the chicken at full sprint and there wasn't anyplace for her to hide so she sort of ran around in a circle. And so did the chicken. Since its head was tilted to the inside of the circle it just sort of kept going that way, probably because of the relationship between the sense of balance and the reflex muscles.
My brother and I were absolutely entranced by the spectacle.
Eventually the chicken collapsed into a heap of white feathers and thrashing talons. My mom came out to see why my sister was crying, thinking that my brother and/or I had done something to her (again). Grandma explained what happened as she held her and tried to comfort her. My brother and I looked at each other and laughed. We wanted her to kill another chicken.
She did. In fact she killed quite a few more once my aunts and uncles showed up and they got a line going. Grandma would kill a chicken and the aunts would pull the feathers off while my uncle gutted the birds.
Good times, good times.
