Repressed Childhood Memory

The previous post reminded Pinky of a traumatic event from his childhood:

One summer my parents enrolled me in a science camp. The first day they brought in a box of live chickens. We were going to cook them and reconstruct their skeletons. We were told to bring bread and mayonaisse for the next day. Thankfully the chickens we already dead when we got to class, but we had to boil them and carefully pick the meat off (and set it aside for lunch). My chicken partner and I made a little cape for our chicken skeleton. We agreed to trade off keeping it. It went home with him for the first visit. I never saw Super Chicken again.