Life Is Like A Box of Chicken Bones

You never know if you will take your next breath of not.
Back in high school when I worked at the Big Apple a group of us after work went to the Dixie Inn in Woodstock, Georgia. They had a special, all the red snapper you could eat. I choked on a fish bone and fell to the floor. This was about 1960 so nobody knew what to do but turn their head as not to watch me die.

Luckily enough, I coughed out the bone. The waitress almost had to step over me to serve a table... I think she knew from experience to pretend you didn't see this incident - you don't want to be a witness against your employer.

Tonight Anna and I were sharing a Cornish game hen. Boy, some of those bones are small! So small was a bone I barely felt it pass down and hung in my throat. I started gagging. I ran my finger down my throat trying to reach it and some how pull it out. Anna saw my problem and ran over and slapped me on the back two or three times. the little bone came dislodged and loose.

Hotooie!!! I spit it out, not worrying about proper manners.

We studied what I spit out and it was part of the pulley bone, or wish bone. I was wishing I would live.

Where was the other side of the pulley bone? Anna had it. She split the little bird down the middle, almost exactly.

I lived.