Mike the Headless Chicken,€ he slid into the conversation.

He must have concluded from the look on my face that I needed a bit more information to process what he just said.

€It's in Downtown Fruita. Google it- Trust me.€

So I did, and what I found made me realize I would be stopping for a quick photo op.

The story of Mike begins on a small farm in Fruita, Colorado, on September 10, 1945, with a farmer's wife asking her husband to go outside and secure a fresh and plump chicken for that evening's meal. The farmer, Lloyd Olson, sharpened up his axe before heading out to the yard and taking a swipe at an innocent rooster pecking away at the ground.

Mike the Headless Chicken

© 2013 Nokia© 2013 Microsoft Corporation
Location: Aspen Street Coffee Co
39.158889; -108.732596
The cut was clean, but after running around like a, well, (you know the phrase. I refuse.) Mike settled back into his role as a chicken, strutting and preening (as much as one could under the circumstances, of course) and the whole bit. Apparently he just wanted to blend in with the rest of farm society, despite the fact he was missing his head.

Lloyd elected to give Mike the night to meet his maker, but upon finding him the morning, Mike was sleeping peacefully with his head tucked under his wing. This chicken deserves to live, the farmer must have thought, and realized that the bird would need to overcome his new handicap just to eat and drink. He sought out an eyedropper and hand-fed Mike directly down his now-exposed esophagus.

He also realized something else- Mike was special, and needed to go on tour.

Against all odds, Mike lived for 18 after losing his head, actually ballooning from 2lbs to 8lbs. He hit the sideshow circuit and became a celebrity nation-wide, including features in Time and Life magazines. At his peak, Mike was earning about $4,500 a month and was valued at $10,000 (both a whole-heck-of-a-lot in the 1940's).

Like many sad conclusions to stories of overnight success, Mike's ended in a small motel room while on tour. Mike started choking in the middle of the night, while a helpless Lloyd looked on, unable to find the eyedropper used to clear his throat.

So how did Mike continue to live? It turns out that Lloyd's axe missed Mike's jugular and a quick clot saved him from bleeding to death. Mike's other saving grace was the fact that most of his brain stem was left intact, which allowed him to continue to perform the basic acts of being a chicken.

Mike's success even inspired copycats, and many a rooster lost their heads in hope of cashing in just like Mr. Olson. Sadly none made it more than a day or so, only enhancing the myth of Mike the Headless Chicken.

So that is how I ended up in Fruita, just outside of Aspen Street Coffee, posing with my son in front of an abstract metal statue of the town's most famous citizen. Not lost, however, among the welded web of rusted wrenches, bolts, horseshoes, and even axes, is the symbolic steely resolve of one not-so-ordinary chicken who refused to be defined by his circumstances.

Need more Headless Mike? Consider looking into Mike's Festival, held late Spring in Fruita, CO