by Elisabeth Bruce

Created on: July 08, 2008

The problem, as always, was how to fit the chicken in.

Mrs Beaton in her famous cookery book, (Tome, would be a better word) stated in her recipe for cooking a perfect Goose, "First catch your Goose."

So, spirited lass that I am, I went out to catch a chicken for dinner. I had, as yet, to catch my perfect chicken. I had tried chasing, cajoling, copious amounts of bread and sheer athleticism. It was if the rotten feathery things read my mind before I started. Or, it may have been the axe in my hand that alerted them to frantic flight. However, this time I was determined to provide from my hen house a sumptuous repast as befits a king. Come hell or high water, as they say in England.

I prepared my tools carefully, chopping block, hot water, stool and a bag for 'bits and pieces.' I shall refrain from informing you of what is placed in there. Not forgetting the axe.

Now all our feathered girls were in the vegetable garden, together with their three roosters, assisting Bob with his gardening of the vegetarian delights he so regularly produced for the table. This seemed to be an excellent place to retrieve the necessary chicken for tea.There was a high wire fence surrounding the garden and a sturdy tall gate.

I entered, closed the said tall, sturdy gate behind me, and proceeded with caution, refraining from looking any feathered being in the eye. They were all quietly going about their business, scratching and fluffing, occasionally swooping on a choice morsel turned by Bob's spade, when I espied a chicken alone, she was facing away - an ideal target and oblivious of my entry. This must be my day, my triumph over all things feathered, I thought, a little quiet glee quickening my pulse slightly. I paused, checking for any recalcitrant rooster that might be near, no, the coast was clear. I crept closer, axe in hand, a reach away from my prize.

All hell broke loose! The bird flew up squawking mightily! A giant rooster flew upon me as an Eagle, wings spread as great as an Avenging Angel! My hair was torn from my head, arms pummelled as ducks and other roosters joined in the fray! Other hens fled in a thousand different directions!The axe fell from my hand, striking my big right toe, sharp end first, of course! And Bob laughed - great gulps of roaring sound that beset me to my very soul. I wished him beyond this 'vale of tears' with an overwhelming desire at that moment. The ducks, which are really a small goose, kept attacking my legs and feet, for I had only my house slippers on. Thankfully, the ducks removed the axe from my big toe, which unfortunately began bleeding copiously.

Bob came to me, unsuccessfully smothering a grin. I noticed and I will remember. However, he took me from the garden, repaired my grievous hurts and made me tea. Presently he returned with a plucked, dressed body of one of my chickens, ready for the oven.

Where, then is the problem? The problem of fitting the chicken in? I cooked a beautiful meal, but I just couldn't fit it in. As always, it was how to fit the chicken in. How to fit one morsel of one of my chickens into my mouth. I shall never know how to do it.

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