For weeks I had been going to the drug store drooling with want for Mrs. Chicken. To wait so long to get what you want and then the heart break of an accident. I wanted that chicken, that wonderful bright yellow plastic chicken with the orange feet. What wonderful feet with chicken toes spread wide shining in the light. But the best part was when you pushed her back – pop - she laid eggs. Well not real eggs, marbles but to a first grade imagination they were eggs; white and black round eggs.
Mother said not to take Mrs. Chicken to school, but I wanted to be the envy of my classmates. The teacher was late that morning so a ‘big’ eighth grader watched over the class. I sat at my desk with Mrs. Chicken sitting attentively waiting for the day to begin.
Well I guess eighth graders love marble-laying chickens too. The ‘big’ eighth grader was right over to my desk so excited to see the marble eggs being laid. No one knew plastic breaks if you press it to hard. Crack! The beautiful orange feet broke right off. ‘Big’ eighth grader was very upset; I was in shock. The big eighth grader apologized saying she would replace Mrs. Chicken. Sadly Mrs. Chicken was laid to rest in the metal lunch box. I moved ahead with the day of learning grieving in my heart for my dearly loved chicken.
Lunchtime came and I mournfully opened my lunch box. Milk had leaked out of my thermos bottle and had moistened the lid of the metal box. Horror of all horrors, there they were bright orange toes spread out wide; chicken feet stuck to the inside top of the box. An image that haunts me to this day, every time I eat a chicken drumstick I look at the footless leg tears run down my cheeks as I think of poor Mrs. Chicken.
© 2011 Eileen A Partak