I Killed It
The chicken. The chicken who ran right in front if my car. I don’t remember if it was the chicken chasing the other chicken, or the chicken who was being chased who died. But die it did.
We were leaving Chicken Park (AKA Village Park in Fair Oaks Village) when it happened. I had just bundled both of my boys into the car to go home after having had a nice little gathering with two mommies and two babies from our Mommy Baby group. We had sat in the shade, talked, snacked on organic figs and organic pluots, watched the babies squirm/crawl/scoot/creep around on the blankets, and watched Lucas make a total dorky fool of himself trying to impress us all by running, jumping, climbing trees, and flying off the moving swing.
So, I was driving away with my kids in my Smurfy blue Honda up a short-but-steep hill. I was going no more than 10 miles per hour because I was just driving out of my parking space, because it was a hill, and because there are children and chickens present. At the crest of the hill, two chickens darted out directly in front of my front wheels. I slammed on the breaks hoping that they would either dodge or stop, or maybe somehow duck under the carriage of my car. No dice.
A man with sunglasses and a mustache was walking nearby and saw the whole thing. He looked at me as I stopped the car. He motioned for me to drive forward, which I did and then stopped again. He shook his head. I got out of the car. He walked over and picked up the dead chicken and started carrying it toward a garbage can. Then he started scolding me: “You shouldn’t drive so fast! Slow down! I see this every day! Now it’s dead. And it’s your fault.”
I love being scolded by strangers for killing chickens. I love being told I was driving too fast when I was going 10 miles per hour. I love killing chickens, especially with my kids in the car so they can see me running them over. I love answering a dozen questions about killing chickens on the way home. In fact, if I could have 15 minutes every single day just exactly like those 15 chicken-killing, being-scolded, question-answering, weeping minutes, I would so LOVE IT!
Lucas reassured me, “Mom, these things happen sometimes. You’re not bad.”
We arrived home. I wiped away my tears. I noticed Asher was already asleep. I got out and walked around the car to open Lucas’s door for him. He looked at me and presented his hands. He was covered in blood—his nose, mouth, chin, and both hands—all covered in bright, crimson blood. “Oh my God!”
(My nerves were more than a little jangled at this point.)
I hustled him inside to the bathroom, gave him some tissue, and told him to tilt his head back. I went to the car to get Asher out and laid him down to nap. Then I went back and cleaned Lucas up. Turns out, he picked his nose until he bled—a lot.
All this before lunch.
P.S. I’m sorry, chicken.
June 23, 2008 at 5:53 pm
Holy Shit! I’m sorry honey.
June 23, 2008 at 6:14 pm
Aw geez. Sorry for that. Though I don’t think I’ve ever before thought “Oh, well, thank goodness it was just nose-picking blood…”
June 23, 2008 at 6:26 pm
A and 1) Fuck that hippy! What’s a dead chicken? Anywhere else in the whole world, it’s dinner! But in F.O. park we have to make a Federal case about it.
B and 2) Sorry about the gory kid sweetheart. I suppose it is time for that nose picking behavior plan. How are his ears today?
June 23, 2008 at 6:27 pm
Oh my god! Just when you think the carnage is over, nose blood everywhere!
I’m so sorry. I hit a bunny rabbit once and I still cringe when I think of it. It totally wasn’t your fault, and that guy is a complete ass for scolding you.
June 23, 2008 at 6:36 pm
Poor SJESEM-W! You know these things happen. And Darwin told us why. Don’t worry ’bout the chicken. And forgive me grinning at the second half of your story…but it did bring back gory memories of little monkeys doing such things. 🙂
And here’s a comic that might make you feel better. It made me laugh… Just think of the Crocs. (You’ll understand that in a second…)
http://www.comics.com/comics/pearls/archive/pearls-20080622.html
June 23, 2008 at 7:19 pm
I’m sorry, mi amore! I’m glad that your six year old had more tact than the stranger. These things do happen. There is something about being personally responsible that is emotional, I have butchered a live animal here and there throughout my life and there was sometimes tears involved.
June 23, 2008 at 7:43 pm
Reading that was like watching a horror film . . . just when you think the menace has passed Lucas! Nose bleed!
*hugs* for the trauma of both the poultry carnage and the insulting hippy chicken-lover.
But maybe this is a teachable moment: “Mommy, why’d the chicken cross the road?” “Because he had a death wish, honey”
June 23, 2008 at 8:33 pm
I’m all with your husband – fuck that Hippy! Sorry you had a little stressball of a drive home. I think Asher put it in perspective by sleeping through it! *hugs* oh and I love Mark’s take on the chicken joke. 🙂
June 23, 2008 at 9:15 pm
You know, Lucas’s eyes were such a brilliant blue shining above all that gore! Yes. Thank goodness it was just nose-picking blood.
June 23, 2008 at 9:16 pm
Thanks. It was lame.
June 23, 2008 at 9:19 pm
I’m not too worried about having killed the chicken. Taking life isn’t my favorite thing to do, but let’s face facts: I am a carnivore.
There’s just nothing quite like feeling crappy about something you have already accepted responsibility for and then having some douche bag rub your nose in it. In front of your kids.
June 23, 2008 at 9:20 pm
Thanks, baby. It was pretty sucky.
June 23, 2008 at 9:23 pm
Thanks for the love. (Cue music) “It’s the CIR-cle of LIIIIIIIFE.”
Better the chicken than me and the boys!
Truly, I haven’t seen a nosebleed like that in a loooong time.
June 23, 2008 at 9:23 pm
He didn’t look like a hippy. Thanks for the hugs. Damn! I need a lot of them these days. Sometimes life with children is really surreal. You know.
June 23, 2008 at 9:24 pm
Thanks for the sympathy. It was just too weird not to write about it. Sorry about your rabbit.
June 23, 2008 at 11:33 pm
I’m glad I didn’t make the chicken joke first.
June 24, 2008 at 1:45 am
That sounds like a horrifying 15 minutes. I pour you a glass of wine and pet your hair. The chicken didn’t feel it or see it coming- we should all be so lucky.
June 24, 2008 at 11:31 am
awww girl, Im so sorry to hear that:( Sending you fat hugs…thats one smart kid you got there(about the love he sent you…the nose picking, well, thats just him digging deep yo!) LOve you girl:)
June 24, 2008 at 11:35 pm
OMG, what the hell was wrong with sunglasses-and-mustache guy?!? What an asshole.
I hate to say it, but the way you wrote it made Lucas’ nose-picking blood sound hilarious (in that cheesy B-movie kind of way.) I know it couldn’t have been at that moment, though!
June 27, 2008 at 2:38 pm
Thank you for the wine and sympathy. 🙂
June 27, 2008 at 2:39 pm
Love you too!
June 27, 2008 at 2:40 pm
No kidding!
I’m glad my horror was transformed into funny. Funny is better any day of the week.