2178. A headless chicken © Bruce Goodman 9 July 2021

Shelagh kept chickens. It wasn’t simply for the eggs. It wasn’t simply for the meat. It was a hobby, an interest, a leisure pursuit. The danger was that baby chickens are so cute that it’s a temptation to have them hatch out. Soon the entire hen house would be riddled with too many chickens. Shelagh had done that once, and had to cull quite a few of her favourite chickens to ease congestion. Of course, every chicken was a favourite. Shelagh gave them names: June, April, May, Angela – need I go on? The rooster was called Petrus, so naturally the favourite of all favourite hens was called Petra. It came time for the annual cull, or to put it more positively, it was time to hatch out a new batch of baby chickens. The reality was that Petra had grown old. She was next in line. Shelagh never wasted a chicken but spaced the cull out over several weeks. She tried to vary the way she cooked each chicken. Oh how sad! With one determined swoop of the tomahawk, Petra fluttered headless around the yard. She was duly plucked. How was she cooked? Naturally, she was Petra-fried. Contact Author Back to Index Next Story Previous Story