Fred Astaire and Judy Garland sang “Easter Parade” on TV, while my Mom and I dyed Easter eggs, and I thought of the Easter basket that would be waiting for me in the morning when I woke up, filled with candy.

One year, someone gave me a little chick for Easter.  It was cute and fluffy, and would chirp back to me when I spoke to it.

And, then, it grew up …

…  into an aggressive, vicious, Stephen King-ish, psycho rooster, that would chase everyone across the yard, and peck them in the legs.

It utilized psychological warfare, by allowing you periods of time of peace and serenity.  Then, just when you had been lulled into a false sense of security, up it would rise with a fury of a tornado -  feathers flapping and squawking maniacally.  There has never been a sprint runner in the history of mankind who could ever have matched the speed with which I flew up the two steps to the back door and into the house. 

One day, it was gone.  My father told me that a neighbor had shot it out of an annoyance of being woken up at the crack o’ dawn each morning.  However, years later, when I was an adult, he confessed what really happened.  He became so tired of being terrorized in his own backyard, that he borrowed an ax from a neighbor and cut the rooster’s neck off. 

“Oh, in your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it …”

What’s your favorite Easter memory?