10 x 8", oil on canvas
Rita Salazar Dickerson
When I was a little girl, my parents purchased some chickens that ran loose in our back yard. I thought they were such a nice addition to the family. Within a short time we thought of them as pets. I don't remember naming them but I do remember loving everything about them.
As the summer eased into fall there was a certain Saturday dinner I will never forget. My dad had gotten up early and without my knowing, had "taken care" of those feathered friends. Later in the day my mom was frying a large pan full of, you guessed it, chicken. When we sat down to dinner that night, with that huge bowl of fried chicken at the table, we children sat silent, staring straight ahead. No one moved. Our appetites were gone. To my parents' frustration we could not take one bite.