The Death of Peggy LaRue

There once was a chicken named Peggy LaRue;
Her feathers were many but her meat was few.
The dawning of Wednesday she arrived at the gate
With no idea of her soon-to-come fate.
But destiny rested on Peggy’s side –
Time slipped away like the turn of the tide.
Dinner passed, to church they all went.
Peggy’s life had yet to be spent.
During TEAMTIME, however it all seemed so dark
As the dreams of one racer seemed to depart.
“Here is the chicken,” he served with a smile
Not knowing the dream unfulfilled all the while.
“Kill my own chicken” the bucket list read,
And here it seemed Peggy was already dead.
“Accept the blessing without any tears,”
The girl told herself with her Peggy-filled fears.
“Squawk” from the house! Peggy simply was tied
Out of the cold and safely inside.
Her last morn was spent pecking at feet,
Refusing to give into easy defeat.
But the semi-dull knife proved an enemy too grand.
After some sawing her head’s in the sand.
Peggy was brave to the very last minute.
Not a caw escaped her throat as the blade went in it.
Blood and feathers sprinkled the ground.
Even headless she did jump around.
With a steamy pluck bath, naked she became;
But do not fret, the dead feel no shame.
In with tomatoes and onions and spice;
Peggy in fact did taste quite nice.
A blessing to many, a chicken to all.
But to me she is nothing ever so small.
A goal accomplished, and dream come true.
I now can kill my own chicken! Can you?