CONTENT WARNING: Animal Cruelty/Death
This is just a collection of my experiences with chickens throughout the years. It begins at age eight. Unbeknownst to me, my dad has always bought a live chicken to cook for dinner on Chinese New Year. I just have never seen the chicken before, since I am usually off playing with my cousins. This is the first time I see it, but my brother knows this and decides to mess with me. This is before noon.
Brother: “Hey, [My Name]! Look, Dad finally got you a pet!”
Me: “Woah, really? Oh, wow! A chicken!”
Brother: “Yeah. Cool, huh? Why don’t you name it?”
Me: “I’ll call him Tony!”
And so I spend the next few hours playing around with Tony and chasing him around the backyard. Come dinner time, my brother mentions something to me.
Brother: “Hey, have you noticed where Tony is?”
Me: “Oh, yeah! We forgot to feed him! Where is he?”
Brother: “On your plate.”
It takes me a few moments to realize what he means. When I do, I excuse myself from dinner and leave to go cry in my room while my brother busts a gut laughing. Rest in peace, Tony.
The next story takes place at age thirteen. I am now fully aware of what I have come to call the yearly chicken sacrifice. I make sure I don’t interact with the chicken before its time is up, and I make sure to not waste any of the meat so as to not let its death be in vain. My brother has realized I won’t fall for the joke again and has given up on messing with me. This is just pure bad timing.
My brother is helping my mom with the food. I’m probably goofing off.
Brother: “Hey, can you tell Dad to come inside? It’s almost time to eat.”
Me: “Yeah, sure.” *Goes outside* “Dad, it’s—“
The scene before my eyes is flailing chicken legs and feathers flying everywhere as I see my dad drowning the chicken in our backyard sink. I compose myself enough to say, “It’s time to eat,” before running inside. My brother asks what’s wrong and after I explain what, he starts laughing like before, while I put on headphones and try to drown out my surroundings.
Now I’m sixteen. I have taken a vacation with my dad to China with a tour company, and we end up at a rustic farming village. The other tourists in our group are all old men, so my dad is having a blast while I have no one to interact with. I spot a nearby chicken wandering in and out of the building, so I just watch it. Eventually, I get curious and decide to approach it cautiously and pet it. Right as I befriend the chicken, the owner of the hostel notices me.
Owner: “Hey. What are you doing, girl?”
Me: “Oh, I just wanted to—“
Owner: “Oh, you want chicken for dinner? Sure! Free of charge, just for you!”
Me: “WAIT! WHAT? NO—“
The owner grabs the chicken and dangles it by the legs.
Owner: “Hey, [Chef]! Chicken soup tonight!”
My dad and the group of tourists cheered and thanked me for getting them an extra dish for dinner. That night I couldn’t bring myself to eat the soup. I mourned for the chicken and thought about how it might’ve lived a few more days if I just hadn’t gone to pet it.
Later, when my dad and I video chatted with my mom and brother back in the USA, my dad told the story of how I had inadvertently killed a chicken. Cue my brother laughing his butt off once again. Rest in peace, Tony, water chicken, and China chicken. I remember you all fondly, and a little traumatically.