The Execution of Penny

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 My paternal grandparents, Gaga and Pom Pom, lived on a little farm in Athens. Pennsylvania. Pom Pom raised chickens and had a big garden. We visited every summer for our vacation.

The chickens were especially fascinating for me, an animal lover from the get-go. Gaga let me help her collect eggs, which was a big adventure to me. Sometimes a hen would still be sitting on her nest and I would call Gaga for help. I was afraid of being pecked.

I also followed my grandfather to the garden to “help.” He was especially proud of his tomatoes, but my favorite thing was helping pick the raspberries he grew. He’d laugh and tell me not to eat too many or their wouldn’t be enough for Gaga’s raspberry cobbler.

One summer I took a fancy to a little hen. I don’t know why? I asked Pom Pom if I could have her for a pet. He said yes and I was thrilled. I named her Penny, probably from the story Henny Penny. I was less thrilled to have to leave her behind when we went home. We lived in town and in a small apartment. I could not have a pet chicken there.

For the whole year leading to the next summer trip, I looked forward to reuniting with Penny. When we arrived the first thing I wanted to do was go see Penny!

Well, I might not have mentioned that all of Pom Pom’s chickens looked alike – Rhode Island Reds, they were all reddish brown. Probably a hundred of them. Much to my dismay no one knew which one was Penny, nor could I tell.

To celebrate our arrival Gaga planned a nice dinner, inviting my aunt, uncle, and cousins. We would have chicken! I was excited.

That morning I followed Pom Pom around, helping him with chores. Maybe we picked some raspberries for dessert that night. I am sure it was just part of his routine when it came time to fetch the chicken we would have for dinner. He didn’t think to send me inside before he caught the chicken, took an axe, and chopped off her head.

I ran screaming into the house. I was in tears as I told Mama and Gaga that Pom Pom had killed poor Penny.


I’m not sure how much of this story I actually remember or how much of the story I remember in the re-telling of it. In any case it did not ruin my appetite for chicken. But I do have a strong aversion to knives and axes. Mama always attributed it to, “That time Father let her watch him kill a chicken.”

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