In Memoriam

It happened six years ago, this week.   I ran over a chicken. Yes, we were mortified ~ Mother in the proverbial sense, and Chicken quite literally.  (The kids thought it was pretty cool, disgusting and a bit adventurous.  After all, something actually happened on our quiet little-country hilltop.) Here's how it all happened.  But indulge me, won't you? And let us begin at the end.  For that's where it happened.  The end of the pen, or its backside.  Tail feathers and all.   After moving the large chicken pen by tractor, by chaining it and dragging it forward, one of the meat birds lay wedged beneath the bottom beam on the backside with its neck doing a goofy flip-flop sort of thing.  Imagine my consternation.  Horror or horrors.  It was not supposed to happen.  And I was responsible.  I was driving the tractor.  While glancing over my shoulder as the pen slowly crept forward, I had watched the many little fowl scatter here and there.  I was optimistic.  (In this story, please allow me to admit a form of gross negligence, or, in other words, Denial of risk.) The children watched as Mother pulled the load forward. In short, poor chicken didn't turn out well.  The pull just was not slow enough for the little gal.  And I was the dumb-head who forgot to adjust the throttle back to its lowest position. Sure, the gears were set just fine, but the throttle, well - minor detail.  Right? (No!) She would have gladly waited for a more glorious day, the day when the rest of her flock flapped their wings and leaped into "De crock."  Voila. (Seriously, isn't that how it works?) At this point, credit must be given to my then 9-year-old son who was eager and more than willing to pull the squashed fowl from beneath the pen, using the garden hoe while Mom precariously bounced upon the handle of a shovel attempting to lift the beam from the bird.  What a thing to write about.  Seriously.  Why can't I just forget about it?  Gosh, how do you ever forget such a thing?!!  It doesn't help when her remains lie in the bottom of the third turn of the kids' dirt kart track.  (The mud was soft, easy digging.  It was, well, unceremonious.) But in her honor, that turn shall forever be called The Chicken Turn. Tomorrow?  Well, let's see.  Tomorrow shall become "Ode to Miss Chicken."