Feeding chickens was a daily chore for us, one that typically didn’t bother us too much. But the chore we remember and came to dread was butchering the chickens. Grandpa Lybbert was usually there to help. Either Dad or Grandpa would chop off their heads and we would chase the chickens as they ran around clucking with no heads until they dropped over. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “running around like a chicken with their head chopped off.”