I pondered over the picture in Robert Ripley’s book, Believe It or Not, of a chicken that had survived for thirty days without its head; but I did not have a scientific temperament. I could sew in a fashion and I began to make clothes for chickens.
—“King of the Birds,” by Flannery O'Connor
There has been a violent reaction to all this recent chickeness and it was to sneak into The Cozy Room of Learning while I was on break today and to pull the head off of the wiggly plucked chicken.
It must have taken some force.
I imagine the plucked chicken’s neck might have stretched a good ways … probably a foot … before it snapped. I’ll bet it even made a pretty good sound. A satisfying sound to the snickering assassin.
But it was a clean break. I don’t think it suffered but for only a moment before he went to be the state’s new bird symbol.
The head and the body were left under the shadow of The Chicken Pole on my desk in the front. It was a sad scene. No note. Nothing else was moved or fiddled with. I put the chicken … both parts … in my briefcase and didn’t make a big deal of it. It’s a message. Not the best one, but a message, and sometimes messages around here have to be violently and impulsively expressed before things get better.
I’m not sure things will get better with the student I think might have snuck into The Cozy Room of Learning while I was on break and snapped the head off of the plucked chicken with a certain friend as a giggling accomplice. But I have no choice but to wait and watch and see the answer.
The answer always reveals itself. That much I know for exactly sure.
I went to my desk in the back and pulled out the second chicken from my top left drawer and put him in my briefcase, too, just in case the thugs come back and get real ambitious. I bought two chickens, I remember telling you, way back when, and chicken number two goes to work tomorrow morning inspiring children to do great things while chicken number one gets his head together.
Next Entry ... March 12: History Is Relative