Like a Chicken?

Mom used to say, “Quit running around like a chicken with its head cut off,” all the time. Much to my terror, I discovered that old adage is grounded in reality.

All of kid’s were out back of the duplex at the end of Sander’s Court including Goldie, Jeannie and John-Paul Arnold and Adam and me. We were playing tag, running from one place to the other to avoid being caught.

It was early evening and getting close to dinner time. That’s when Mrs. Dorothy Arnold came outside and went to the family’s chicken coup.

She returned with red-colored hen and without fan-fare, grabbed the hatched buried in the old chopping block at the back door, and dispatched the chicken. Much to my shock the headless bird dropped to the ground and took off running.

The bodiless-hen dashed into the garden, disappearing amid the rows of Lima beans. It fell to John-Paul to chase after the chicken and retrieve it for his mother.

Later that night, Adam would climb in bed next to me and complain he had a nightmare about the bird. At nearly seven-years-old, I thought I was too old to admit I was awake because of a similar nightmare.