The Final Revenge
Charley was of a good breeding stock, and all his chicks came out large and healthy. Gram needed all the financial help she could get, and the sale of meat and eggs that Charley produced helped tremendously. But when he started chasing the ten-year-old, Gram decided it was time for Sunday dinner. Sister and I thought we’d gain some long overdue brownie points, along with getting rid of our old nemesis, by presenting her with the uncooked entree. So, we waited until Gram went to do her Saturday shopping, then grabbed the ax out of the barn.
We’d watched Gram kill chickens several times and, it had looked easy; you just snuck up behind them when they were sleeping and grabbed their feet. Then you hooked their head between two nails that were pounded into a stump, and chopped.
Because I was stronger than Sister, we thought it best that I do the grabbing, and she do the chopping. What I forgot to find out about, until it was too late, was how to control the wildly flapping wings in my face. In the chaos that followed, Charley ended up upside-down. This took care of the wing problem, but now his claws were ripping open my hands, so I yelled at her. “He’s scratching me! He’s tearing open my hand! What do I do?!!” She screamed back at me, “Get him to the stump! Get his head on the stump!”
Between the two of us, we did somehow managed to get his head wedged between the two nails, and she grabbed the ax. The problem was, we’d gotten him in sideways, and Charley was looking up at her with one eye. I think she lost her nerve then, and rather half-heartedly let the ax drop. It hit Charley’s shoulder and scared him, but didn’t do anything.
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