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There is actually more to it. One fall when I was 10 my cousin Wally and I were 'tossing chickens' (like tossing dwarfs but easier) when one of the dumb beasts took a quick flight into the side of the barn, breaking a wing in the process. (I won't say who the thrower was, but I'm sure you can guess) We ran around trying to figure out what to do about the broken chicken - we were trying to hide it - when we got a call from my aunt to do some chores. One of the chores was to catch and kill a chicken for supper. With a huge sigh of relief I realized we had been saved from punishment by karma of the most fortuitous kind. Or so I thought.

Catching supper was quite easy, since it was still where we stashed it in an old schoolhouse. However when we went to get the axe, Wally handed it to me. I handed it back to him explaining that I had never killed a chicken before and really, really didn't want to start. He explained to me the very logical reason for me to be the executioner and handed the axe back to me.

I can still remember the chicken starring at me while Wally held it with it's neck on the top of the chopping stump. It was only a 5lb axe, but as I lifted it, it felt much much heavier, straining my poor little 10 year old muscles. I only lifted it about a foot and a half above the chicken's neck then simply dropped it with my eyes wide open, (I wanted to close them but thought I might hit my foot if I did) hoping I would either kill the animal quickly or miss completely. It did neither. The axe didn't even go half way though the neck, leaving the damn chicken alive and kicking. I dropped the axe and ran into the house crying my eyes out. My cousin killed the chicken for me, came into the house and explained to my concerned grandmother, in the most unflattering terms if memory serves, why I was crying. He has never let me forget the incident.