This is not an urban legend. This is a true story. About a chicken without a head, just as it says up there.
Out by the Grand Mesa in Colorado, lies a small town called Fruita. It is a small town. About five homes, one outhouse and a dinosaur museum, that is what this town has to offer. A little outside of Fruita was the Olsen farm, where Lloyd and Clara Olsen lived. One fine morning in the year of our lord 1945, Claras mother was visiting for the weekend, and it was decided that for sunday dinner, they would have chicken. So, Lloyd headed out to find a nice, fat chicken. He caught Mike and he chopped his head off with his axe. Now, if you have ever seen a chicken being killed, it often takes its own sweet time to die. As it would turn out, Mike would take a bit more time than most chickens do. Most chickens run around without their heads for, maybe, a minute, at the most. Mike lived for 18 months.
What happened, was, Lloyds mother-in-law really liked chickennecks, and Lloyd, being a gentleman, decides to give her as much neck as possible. The chickenbrain is not exactly the most advanced work of evolution, and, as it turns out, Lloyd hit above the brainstem, and that, combined with a freak bloodcloth, was enough for Mike to survive. When Lloyd finds him in the corner the next day, with his little chickenhead under his wings, Lloyd decides to reward this stubborn refusal to die. Well, we have to assume that he began with crying "Why won't you just die, you monstrous beast!".
Mike would still attempt to peck, but, of course, couldn't do much more than bang his neck-stump into the ground. He would also attempt to crow, but it would end up more of a gurgle, effectively rendering him useless as a wake-up crowing rooster. Not wanting to eat him, Lloyd devises a plan to make some money of the whole thing.
Nice tie, dork... Holy crap, did he just rip the head of a chicken?
Sorry I insulted your tie, dude.
Like many a celebrity with only half a brain (We will and shall not make any obvious heiress jokes), Mike is thrust into the national spotlight. He becomes a star on the Side-Show-Circuit, and earns the Olsens about 5000 dollars a month, and that is 1945-46 money, back when a nickel could buy you a ride on the trolley to the shady part of town and still leave you with enough money for a roll in the hay with a young prostitute, or so grampa tells us.
But, fame doesn't last forever, and Mike was no exception. The Olsens used a syringe to feed him and remove mucus from his exposed throat. On a cool March night in 1947, they forgot their kit at a marketplace, and, unable to save him, they could only watch as Mike died, choked to death in his own secretions, like many a rockstar.
Mike died, but he became a legend. Every year in Fruita, they have a celebration to honor him, featuring olympic-style events such as a lawn-mower race, a 5K run and a Chiken-dance contest. And, well, that is about it, according to the program. Every third weekend in May, mark your calenders, everybody.
And, so, the tale of Mike the Headless Chicken ends. Nowadays, people are never sure if it is true or an urban legend, but of this we are certain: Had Mike lived today, he would have his own show on Fox.