Having been a firefighter and Emergency Medical Technician for about three decades, I have spent many hours over the years riding in the back of an ambulance/rescue squad. A couple of weeks ago I took my first ride in an ambulance as a patient. I must admit that I prefer riding back there sitting up and working rather than lying down and being worked on.
Pretty soon after arriving at the hospital I found myself as a proud resident of the Intensive Care Unit. It is in this unit that they do everything in their power to make sure that you don't die and you don't get any rest. The question, "What is your date of birth?" was asked about a zillion times and was almost always followed by a needle stick somewhere in my arm. It got to the point that I was seriously considering lying about my birthday. Then they tricked me and asked my birthday before serving me dinner. When I was not forthcoming with my answer, the nice lady said she needed to know before she could drop off my dinner tray. I confessed my date of birth and she dropped off a tray with a cup of juice, some broth and a cup of coffee. Well, it was better than a needle.
The folks at the hospital took good care of me, put me through the humiliation of a colonoscopy, gave me a few units of blood and sent me home. I will say that every person who interacted with me at Great River Medical Center was very kind, pleasant and efficient. Thanks. After arriving back home I can only surmise that while I was in the hospital a declaration went out from the King: "Kill every chicken in the kingdom." I say that because the march of the dead chickens to my house began almost immediately.
I had been home less than 24 hours when the first dead chicken appeared at my doorstep. It wasn't like a juvenile Halloween trick, gross and decapitated chicken on the porch, ring the doorbell and run chicken thing. The chicken was dead. But by the time it appeared at my house nicely wrapped in aluminum foil, it was still warm from the oven, had been plucked and cleaned, sprinkled with some yummy seasonings and baked to juicy perfection. It was delicious and I was thrilled.
It wasn't long before the next dead chicken showed up nicely cooked up with some vegies and thick yummy noodles. Pretty soon another dead chicken dropped by. This one was the main ingredient in some fabulous chicken noodle soup. His brother came by the next day as the featured component in some chicken and barley soup. Heck, I didn't even know I liked chicken and barley soup. Now I do. But I am starting to feel badly for the chicken population of southeastern Iowa. I feel like my illness is responsible for the near annihilation of the local chicken population. I am beginning to wonder; when I checked into the hospital did some auto-system click into action and chickens started dying. Is there some chromosome at work in the inner reaches of the women of the church I serve that causes them to think: Pastor is sick – cook a chicken?
I am not complaining. I have worked with chickens on the farm. I know I will sound heartless to some of you, but chickens are dumb and dirty. I prefer a well cooked chicken to a live chicken any day. To those of you concerned for my wanton disregard for the wellbeing of chickens, let me explain.
I have a friend that is a wonderful person. She is an animal lover and a vegetarian. Great lady. But she is concerned that I hate animals. So, let me make it clear that I love animals. I am NOT a vegetarian but I do love animals. I grew up around animals. I have had many different animals as pets. I raised animals on the farm. I hunted for animals with animals. I even worked with animals. Animals are wonderful. But, having dealt with animals in so many ways in so many settings, I cannot do what many animal lovers and vegetarians do. That is, give animals human characteristics, emotions and mental powers. But the truth is many people see animals as humans, with human feelings and humans emotions. I have concluded that animals are animals and humans are humans. I am not saying that humans are better or preferable to animals. Generally speaking I prefer the company of a dog to just about every human being I have ever met.
So, I say, thank God for chickens. Especially southern fried chickens.
By the way, there are signs that the carnage is over. Someone brought me a delicious homemade pizza for supper and there wasn't a scrap of chicken on it.
Copyright © 2012, William T. McConnell, All Rights Reserved
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