My father grew up on a farm, but we were raised in town. When I was about 4 and my brother ~6, my dad wanted us to have the farm-like experience of growing a few chickens and then killing and eating them. Make a man out of us, I guess. When it came time to wring the neck, my dad held the head in his hand and then spun the body around until they separated. Alas, the body landed, got up and started running back and forth. By chance it followed my brother no matter which way he ran. Blood squirting out of it's neck. Soon my brother was screaming and crying as he ran. I was standing in the door of a building. My brother finally saw the door and ran towards me. I closed it. He pounded on the door begging to be let in. NO way I was going to let that bird in. The bird finally keeled over at his feet. My brother never has forgiven me for that.