When I was about 6 or 7, my parents got me a baby chick for Easter. I named him Fred. No, we didn't live on a farm or anything, but my mom's parents did. I was told that when he got a little bigger, we'd take him to live on Mamaw's and Papaw's farm in Rogersville.
I had very bad allergies when I was younger. I couldn't be around dogs or cats without having an allergic reaction. (Too bad I'm not still allergic to dogs, huh Wally?) Apparently I wasn't allergic to feathers, or at least not too bad, so I got the chick. I'm not really sure why they got me a chick. Maybe I begged for a pet and they knew we couldn't keep a chick for too long on a 3/4 acre lot in a suburban neighborhood, so that would shut me up. Sounds like reasonable parental logic to me.
After a few weeks, Fred needed more space than our fenced-in backyard and garage could provide, so we took him down to the farm in Rogersville. I was concerned, as anyone would be, that he'd fit in with the other chickens and roosters. I mean, up to that point he'd led a very privileged life as an "only chicken" in a middle-class neighborhood. Now he was going to the 'hood when his peers had grown up with dirt and wood floors. Would he be laughed at by the other chickens? Would they tape "peck me" signs on his back when he wasn't looking? But in life, it's not always the obvious that you have to worry about.....
A couple of months later, we went to visit my grandparents on a Saturday. I went off in search of Fred, but Mamaw said a fox must have gotten him because they hadn't seen him around lately. As we sat down for lunch, I saw Mamaw whisper something to my mom, and Mom nodded (much like you'd see Big Tony nod on The Sopranos after someone had been whacked per Tony's instructions). Mamaw was a great cook, and one of her specialties was fried chicken. That's what we had that day for lunch. A year or so later, I learned that we actually ate Fred on that Saturday afternoon. Yep, we had fried Fred.
Maybe this story sounds cold and uncaring, but believe it or not I never went to therapy over it. On a farm, farm animals can't be pets. They're just objects that either feed you or provide money for you when you sell them.
The Easter bunny has never brought a chick, a duck or a rabbit for the girls at Easter. (Nor will he this year; we've already called ahead and checked.) They prefer edible things in their Easter baskets, anything chocolate. And that's fine with me, because I'm not sure how either princess would react to a Fred-type incident.....
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