Enough chicken already!

Warning: the following memory might be disturbing to some.

Grandpa Bachman worked as an orderly. Grandma Bachman was a maternity ward nurse. They lived in the south side of Chicago. Grandma would talk about how the women in their neighborhood were so poor that it was common for the older children to knock on her door when it was apparent that babies were coming right away. They had raised four very active boys. (Realize that "all boy" is often a euphamism for "pain in the rear." ) My grandmother had lived a hard life. Even though they lived in the city, my grandfather insisted on keeping milking cows and laying hens all the way into the 1970s despite modern conveniences.

My grandfather died in his sleep after much pain and illness. That morning, the story goes like this. My grandmother, so fed up with everything suddenly decided that she'd had enough and slaughtered all of the chickens. Never again would she labor for the nostalgia of keeping farm animals. When she was done, she was such a bloody mess that the neighbors questioned the cause of grandpa's death.