We did have local stand alone butchers where we could choose our chicken (live) and have the butcher slaughter it on the spot. Our local Detroit butcher was Vergote's. We kids would hide behind mom's skirt listening to the squawk as the butcher's ax fell with a thud across the chicken's neck. Then we'd eagerly open our eyes to watch the chicken run around the little kitchen with his head cut off. By the time we studied descriptive phrases in English, we knew what the figurative "running around like a chicken with its head cut off" literally looked like.
Compare that to this conversation between modern kids, "yeah, we went to Walmart, where mom walked the rows and rows of packaged chicken and tried to decide, 'breasts? thighs? wings? boneless breasts?' It's as if she'd never seen a chicken before!"
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Hardy Appetit!