There are interesting ways the farm teaches you about death before any other area. You have that creature you love to feed and months later its laid out on the family table, stuffed and filled with vegetables that it use to run in. It is interesting when you think of the first death you have to experience. Not like a person, those are often more traumatic, often… Remember the words right here, often. The first death I ever physically witnessed was done by my father, out of all things it was a rooster, not just any ordinary rooster, and evil one.
Scariest thing on the Planet.
I was under the impression for my birthday I could have my party the way I wanted to, this was acceptable, and I was in love with Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up. He was the most splendid boy to ever not touch the world. I remember countless nights leaving my window open and was waiting for him to take me away. Peter Pan was very intelligent, he must have been a doctor in a previous life, he knew I was getting sick and needed my mother. So, he left me there to get pampered the next day. When I was turning five I had decided we were going to have a party with a Tinkerbell and Pirate theme. Everyone from church and the community down the road was invited.
To prepare for this event there were things that were needed, Jason who lived down the road was lucky enough to be on a fruit and vegetable farm. This was the breaking in to my addiction. A horrible addiction one that only myself and Scooby Doo truly understand. There is something sinister about Velma, and the other members of Mystery Incorporated. I always tend to look at Scooby-Doo like a victim of circumstance. Scooby just wants to sit back and chill with his snacks in the Mystery Machine. While the others take his addiction and give him a type of pressure that only one with an addiction can suffer from.
When offered he is normally accepting but there are times his will power gets up so high he mutters the sound “Ruh-uh.” And this is his version of no, its normally followed by the shaking of his head. So his peers once more place an offer, this time knowing he will want more they up the anti. Scooby… I understand your pain. My addiction was strawberries, is strawberries. The neighbors farm had an entire acre that was given to just strawberries.
So my mother could get me to do about any task she wanted if she had a serious stash of strawberries. However, they were only a stash till I found them, then it was on, there was a discovery waiting to happen and it was my want in life to have an OD experience from strawberries. More often then not, I had devoured them all til I felt sick, sickly sick, the only kind cartoons feel where their face changes to the green color and their skin begins to lose it’s elasticity and droop off your face. Yes that kind of sick, shortly after I would pass out wake up refreshed and ready to try my hand at finding the other strawberries the next morning. No, there was no lesson learned there, to this day I am still defying the amount of strawberry consumption each chance I get.
We had to gather an assortment of fruits for this party, so we had fruits of all kind even those I did not like or want to touch the fruit I loved dearly, in fear that the flavor of one would some how infect the flavor of another. Mother had decided to make the game of Hide and Treat. It was like Easter there was piles of fruit in various spots through out the property and you had a basket that you had to fill. At the party we had just started this game. The eight of us rushed off in different directions and tried out best to find what fruits we could. This was an easy task and should have been a simple game but little did I know, I was going to be a victim of a most brutal assault.
Earlier that day the chickens were to be fed. The rooster, however normally ran about the farm doing what ever rooster things he wished. He must of been away when the corn bits were tossed in the golden glints on to the ground, or to be jumped upon by the chickens close by. This rooster must have skipped out on it. When he came around the corner, he was strutting. He must have been plotting what was going to happen. Walk up, check out the fruit, scare child, collect fruit and complete farm domination. When the rooster had decided my pile was his, he displayed so by looking at me and cocking his head to the side.
It was questioning me on every move I made, every bond I break, every breath I take! It was worse then the Sting Stalker Singles that they use to sell! I had nothing more to do but decide to take my basket and try to shoo the rooster away. In my mind I had this planned out, one fail swing and down goes Tyson. But this was not the case. Tyson had other plans. I swung and Tyson moved in for the kill.
It was a run by wing buffing, left shots and right shots and no one could even see it coming, Tyson was a destroyer of dreams he was a goblin of desires and much like the Goblin King, he told me to turn back with his demonic bawk bawk. I was scared so I fled back to the table to get some reinforcements, I could of grabbed another pile of fruit and went on but this.. no, no this was needed. There was a lot going on in my mind. Did that rooster just challenge me? The most awesome Tiger Lilly to ever run with Peter Pan! No this was not happening! I refused to accept this I could feel it in every bone of my body, If I had known what chicken was made in to I would of been running for with full Braveheart Charge!
It was at the moment of the yell, I felt like Leonidus, for my roar was strong and long. I am sure it echoed and reached every inch of the property. Still that rooster was not going to budge, I charged at it and it drew back and carried a weapon I had never known to exist. Its beak! I was unprepared I admit it, I waged war thinking I could over throw this, I was a fool, I was underestimating Tyson… At this very moment. I was General Custer.
It was then that I knew this was bad. I was being pecked to death, the bird had become a massive beast set upon ripping the strawberries apart like well starved raptor. I knew that I was going to perish Tyson was not going to let me survive this, and much like the now chosen name of this rooster I remember many various bites to the ears. I had fallen down, victim to the insane skill the rooster was displaying it jumped on my back pushing talons on my shoulders and started to scratch, it came down with its beak, pecking at my neck. My father came in like Superman, but he looked more like Patrick Swayze.
He came in like a 49er, kicked the rooster like a field goal, it was mom and dad who leaned up my scratches and made sure I was all right. My dad had a big determination that evening, he took me out in to the chickens and he went with me and pulled out the rooster who had attacked me and was my victor in combat. I was a very angered child, not even a single strawberry. When my father asked me if that was the chicken that had scratched me, I felt like Emperor Nero.
My father wanted me to see this and to understand I suppose of what was going to happen, he pulled out one of the largest knives we had for the cutting meat and he drug me out to wards the chopping post. The next few parts will get a little graphic living on the farm there is always some animal violence. So, sorry PETA. When we got out there mom had tied the rooster to the post. I had no clue of the outcome of when a rooster or chicken dies, I had thought they fall lifeless to the ground and soon become the instrument of awesome in a WhizBang! However there was this stare that the Rooster gave me that I will never forget.
The rooster expression was cold and calculated. Little did I know he was summoning the seed of Satan. I did not know there was things like Zombies. But that rooster was a zombie. Normally the chicken was tied both at the head and the legs to the post to make things quick and simple. However it was just a tie about the head, this must have been the roosters last request. My father moved to swing at the rooster, and plop came off the head dangling from a single string. The next pieces have haunted me for ever.
Its head hung there off the rope the same stare and evil look in its eyes as it watched me. Suddenly, the body began to move running after me and catching up. It was the Walking Dead the Poultry Edition. The bird was moving at speeds I didn’t think possible every time I turned around it was there with No-head, leaning and following me. It was like Mike the chicken with out a head but its evil possessed brother. I ran away from the area and it was still on my heels the every presence of this spawn of Satan was following me. I remember thinking “I will never eat chicken again or eggs or anything that has feathers. ” I was praying some how this bird was going to get me again. My screams were surrounded and as I ran I heard a sound behind me it was like the wind; it was something like a tomahawk. The sudden impact turned my attention back. I stood there my heart was racing as I stared to the size of the machete that was stuck in to the bird and in the tree.
I stood there in awe, in relief, as a saved by the man my father and his beastly arm that slaughtered off the demonic rooster. My father had turned to me and in that moment of his awestruck epicness. He leaned down to me and said at that moment.
“He’s not going to hurt you again now is he?”
No dad, he won’t. I stood there watching the corpse till the last bit of life twitched from his form. I stared knowing I was saved. There was something in me that understood what was coming next for me in life..