I'll never forget those Sundays when I was a kid. Ma-ma would go out and look the chickens over, pick one out, and then it was show time. She'd just wring the chicken's neck and snap it like a dead twig.
We had a grapevine there with the best big purple grapes each year, and that headless chicken would always seem to head for the post holding up the grapevine. Sometimes she'd bump her headless carcass on there two or three times before she realized she was already in chicken heaven.
Ummmmm... Fried Chicken. I always got the wishbone. I think I wished for more chickens.