Even here in the city people raise chickens, pigs, cows and goats to supplement their incomes. One does not need an alarm clock as the roasters call out to the world, “time to wake up”. Frequently at Sunday Mass the people will bring up a chicken in the Offertory Procession(usually I get eggs, potatoes and rice). Two days ago our neighbor brought over a gift of a chicken and after waiting two days I decided to eat it.
But first someone had to kill it. First I asked our cook, she refused. Then I ask my foreman to get one of the women working in the garden to finish it off, both women refused. The I told him to kill it, he refused. So, it was on me to send the chicken to chicken heaven and to our dinner table.
I had slit the neck of the chicken years ago and tried to remember how I did it. First I placed it on the ground stepping on its wings and feet to hold it down. Moving the knife across its neck vigorously was not working. The knife was not spark enough, I swore the chicken was laughing at me. Then it got away and ran throughout the yard. I went back to the kitchen to sharpen the knife while Jeni, our cook finally ran it down.
Jeni, she’s the one who refused to do the chicken in tells me that I’m not doing it right and that I have to hold the neck while cutting away. She held the body. Well, without going into any more details, the deed was done. I’m now on my second day of eating chicken twice a day.
The Gift of the Chicken turned out to be an adventure of a comedy of errors. Such is my life here, at times.