Warning: If you are an animal lover ... PLEASE don't read this. You'll hate me.
How many times has your mom ever told you to kill something? My mom has ... once ... I was ten.
Every spring my mom's daisies pop up out of the soil in her yard. These daises have a sentimental value to her because they have been transplanted from her grandma's farm. I think they look pretty but they smell like butt. Maybe it is the smell that first drew Henrietta the hen to them.
Henrietta made it an ongoing habit to roost in my mom's daises. My mom made it an on going habit to remove Henrietta from them until she was fed up.
"Bri, that chicken has got into my daises one to many times."
"So ... I can kill it, right!?"
"Absolutely!"
A mere hour and a half went by and I was outside playing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Henrietta walking into the yard. I waited in giddy suspense as she walked right into my mom's daises. I was overjoyed for the chance I now had to obliviate that damn bird!
I ran to the garage in search of a proper killing device. I looked and looked but my dad's garden tools were no where to be found. Then I saw it... the perfect choice for battle! My dad's tennis racket! I grabbed the racket and ran to the daises as fast as I could.
As poor Henrietta was eating away at the daises she had no idea the blow she was about to receive.
BAM!!! Henrietta flew from the daises like a bat out of hell. She was running but she was so dazed from the blow she couldn't run far. Mark Blue and his brothers Morton and Malan riding their bikes nearby saw the commotion and sped over to aid me in the onslaught. "I have a bee bee gun at home I'll be right back." yelled Mark as he could see the tennis racket was only knocking Henrietta around.
Morton and Malan jumped off their bikes and grabbed some pipes that left behind by some construction workers. The three of us took turns swinging at the bird but with all the baseball experience the Blue boys had they sure couldn't hit much. My tennis racket sure wasn't doing much, just dazing Henrietta. Marcus returned with the bee bee gun. He took aim and hit Henrietta once, twice, fifty times and that stupid hen just kept going!
More of the neighbor kids saw what was happening and apparently their mom's told them they could kill this hen too! After what must have felt like ages to Henrietta half the neighborhood was after her. I'd had enough. I returned to the garage to find a new weapon. I saw it. The garden hoe. I snatched it up and ran for the back yard as I wasn't about to let anyone else off Henrietta.
I took one swing with the hoe and that was all it took.
POP! Henrietta was gone. After all the shouts of domination and the high fives I returned to my mom with the news. "Well, just don't tell the neighbors." she said. "Umm.... which ones" I retorted.
Although my mom did give me permission to kill the chicken ... I accept full responsibility and any implied blame should be placed solely upon me.
Names have been changed to protect the innocent.pugnacious \puhg-NAY-shuhs\,
adjective:Inclined to fight; combative; quarrelsome.
