The Rooster(Marla) We’ve all heard or read the heartbreaking stories about animals that died. These stories are designed to pull tears from our eyes, and they often succeed. But the hard truth is that not every story about an animal dying is a sad one. Does that sound harsh? It’s not. The fact is, there are times when the death of an animal is not a terrible, heart-wrenching event. Here is one such story.

When I was a kid, we had chickens. And we had a rooster. That rooster was extremely proud of himself. His pompous walk said everything - that he owned not just the chicken coop and the hens, but also all of the surrounding ground. He was a mean thing. He chased us kids, with the intent to peck our legs. It was painful when he succeeded. Finally, after yet again seeing that big rooster chase one of their terrified, screaming children down the hill, my parents decided that enough was enough.

My dad marched straight toward that rooster and scooped him up by his legs. He (the rooster, not my dad) made plenty of noise and flapped his wings in protest as my dad carried him upside down in one hand, a hatchet in the other. The next part I did not watch, but my dad told it well. I will try to write it as he said it:

“I put that rooster on the tree stump. I raised the hatchet, and I think he knew just what was coming. He looked right at me with his little black eye and gave one last ‘Crawwww’ before I chopped his head off. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he knew.”

And then. (Because there has to be an "And then").
And then, in the spirit of wasting nothing, my parents decided that we might as well cook the thing. This did not turn out well at all. Though cooked for quite a long time in the boiling water, the meat never did become edible. Turns out he was every bit as tough as he wanted us all to think.

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