Friday, June 18, 2010

Harsh Realities

One of my chickens died yesterday; chalk it up to sweltering southern heat. She was sweet and timid and not a very good layer, which in days gone by would have meant she'd have gone in the roasting pan months ago.  But that is how I know I would never have made a very good farm wife.  Wringing the neck of ....anything, except maybe the occasional family member is hard to imagine. 



My husband buried Lizzie in the back yard alongside several dogs, cats, and if I remember correctly a hamster, named Toast. I think Stephen King has a book about it.  We always knew the chickens were apt to get eaten by a fox or possum so we did try not to get too attached.  It is not the same as losing a dog or cat. But now I have to figure out how to introduce a new chicken to our flock...


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