Mandy Haynes

I'm a writer who works undercover as a pediatric echo tech, plotting the next great Southern Fiction. Be careful or you may show up in my novel.

The One Legged Chicken That Wasn’t

Okay, here goes. This is one of my all time favorite stories and I hope I can do it justice.

About three years ago I called a patient back for her echo. She was around fourteen and adorable. A little too much eyeliner, but her Carhart jacket leveled out the black smudges and I could tell right away that she was going to be an alright kid. And I was right, we were laughing before we ever made it into the echo room because she tripped over her own feet and I knocked into the hand sanitizer on the wall turning to see if she was okay. It is always a good sign when the patients are laughing before we even get started.

 I stepped out to let her change and waited for the knock on the door which is my signal to enter and get to work. I do cardiac ultrasounds, and while the study isn’t painful it’s kind of awkward for most preteen – teenage girls, so I usually get their minds off of the gel and hospital gown by asking questions.

My favorite question is “Do you have pets?”

You want to get kids to open up? Have them tell you about their pet. So many times the study is over before the kids are finished talking about their dog, cat, lizard, fish, bird, horse or sometimes goat. She was different – she had a chicken. Not a flock or bunch or whatever you call it when you raise chickens. Just one lone chicken.

And it wasn’t an ordinary chicken, it was, in her words “a one legged chicken, but he wasn’t really one legged ’cause he had two legs but only one leg would go down so he could only stand on the other one – I think his knee is broke or something.”

 I just figured he stood on one leg and kept the other one bent up under like a lot of birds do, and asked her if that’s what she was talking about.

She said. “No! It’s like this!” and threw her arm up  so that if she had been standing instead of lying on the exam table it would have gone straight up to the ceiling, pointing over her head.

I burst out laughing and she said, “I know right! He looks so stupid. I really figured he’d die, or something would eat  him ’cause he’s kind of crippled but he’s still alive and I didn’t even want a chicken, my sister wanted a chicken so I just picked him and she picked another but her chicken got eaten and mine is still alive.” She was the queen of run on sentences – I loved listening to her. Her voice was like a roller coaster ride. “I think the coons are scared of him I think that’s why they haven’t eaten him ’cause he looks so weird.”

I couldn’t believe it when I found out she had had him for over two years. Her mother and I laughed a lot while she told us stories about this poor little chicken.  I asked what his name was and almost died when I heard her say Tim – “Like Tiny Tim!” I squealed.

“No, Timothy.” She missed my joke but her mom didn’t and we laughed until we cried. She kept talking about this chicken that she hadn’t even wanted and it was obvious that she loved him. I thought he was pretty lucky – even if he looked like he was stuck in some crazy yoga position or some ballerina reincarnated, he was loved. And had been loved by the same girl for over two years. I thought the conversation had gotten as good as it could get until….

Out of the blue she asked, “If you get hit by lightin’ will it hurt you?”

I said “Hurt you? It can kill you.” and I noticed the look in her eyes as soon as the words left my mouth. She was terrified. I wondered how I’d put my foot in it and asked, “Why do you ask? Do you know someone who was hit by lighting?”

“Me.” she said and looked at her mama with worried expression.

“You? When? How bad were you hurt?”

“Well, it happened last week – it was raining and Timothy is scared of storms so I went outside to make sure he had gotten under the carport ’cause sometimes he gets stuck and cain’t get up on the concrete. I picked him up and wrapped him in a towel ’cause he was shaking and had gotten wet and it was thundering so I sat on the washing machine with him to dry him off ’cause mama don’t like for me to bring him inside and that’s when I got hit by lightening……”

“Did you go to the hospital?” I asked, cutting her off. Now mind you through this whole conversation I’m working. It can be difficult, some images you have to really focus on but in all honesty it helps me to talk and work at the same time. Blame that on ADHD I guess, but it helps me with the flow of the study. It keeps me on track if I have something to occupy part of my brain other than what I’m doing. Crazy, I know.

But in any case I knew that I’d missed something here. I stopped imaging for a second and looked at her.


Her mama cut in, “I was at the grocery when it happened and she didn’t tell me until the next day. By then I just figured if anything had happened she would be having some kind of trouble. But she wasn’t so I didn’t think she needed to go to the ER.”

So I’m thinking, she was sitting on the washing machine and lighting struck close by – you know the crashing loud kind that lights up everything and scares the crap out of you. So I said so, but she insisted it hit her. I asked what did Timothy do when the lightening hit and she said he didn’t move or anything and she thought he was dead, but when she put him down he hopped over on his one foot to his nesting box like nothing had happened.

“Well, then I bet it just hit in your yard really close and the sound made you jump so it felt like you were hit.”

“No. It hit me ’cause I felt it and it did this…..” she raised her gown and I almost hit the floor when I saw the round burn mark at the very bottom of her lower back. “I felt it come up my legs and butt and shoot out here.”

And that my friends is the story of the one legged chicken that wasn’t and why you should always listen to the whole story! NEVER assume you know what the other person is saying.

Her heart was perfectly normal, in case you were wondering.


This is a hard lesson to learn, but makes the world of difference once you follow through.

Writers are a different breed.

A friend called me the other day to tell me that she had read an interview that reminded her of me. She couldn’t recall the author’s name but said that what he said hit dead on. The cliff notes version is this – he remembered every bit of his childhood even though his siblings couldn’t remember a thing. He remembered sights, smells and emotions that others sometimes missed as they were happening. She is always amazed at how I can recall conversations from years before, whether from my childhood to when we started working together thirteen years ago. Sometimes it almost drives me nuts. That same day I came across this quote from Stephen King. It made me feel a little less crazy…just a little.

“Soundtrack Not Included”

“Soundtrack Not Included”

Some amazing things have been happening lately. Just recently I was on a panel (along with Mike Turner, Tracy Lucas, Alan Lewis and David Harris)  at the Southern Festival of Books to help spread the word about the Nashville Writers Meetup Group. I read from a couple of my stories that were published in the first anthology. I thought it was very cool we were in the same room where just the day before I had listened to Marshall Chapman and George Singleton tell great stories about dogs they’d had in the past. (They were reading from “Literary Dogs & Their South Carolina Writers” along with Mary Alice Monroe). Anyhoo – things happening the way they seem to happen, I didn’t have a nameplate like the other speakers. David, Tracy and I all looked and there was no Mandy Haynes in the bunch. So I settled for George Singleton’s instead and was surprised when someone in the audience actually noticed :).

Here is a link to Amazon for that first Nashville Writers Meetup anthology, but you could support your local book stores and buy directly from them at East Side Story or Parnassus Books

The last House Organ Summer Reading issue to be published. So sad.  

“A fiction writ…

“A fiction writer weaves a fabric of lies in hopes of revealing deeper human truths.” Wally Lamb

So true Wally, so true.