1 year ago
Monday, May 22, 2006
I love my chickens. When one becomes ill, it is as sad as if a dog or cat is sick, and I'm sad. This weekend, I had a "Little House on the Prairie" moment. One of my favorite brahma hens had become ill, possibly egg-bound was my guess. She was suffering, in a very bad way. I won't go into the gory details, but my pioneer woman personna kicked into action, and I had to end her (Chicky's) life. Not being one to afford $100 for a visit to a vet for civilized, sterile euthanization which modern society seems to require, I took care of it myself. Okay, now you all know I'm a chicken killer. My dreadful secret is out. But I can still live at peace with myself, because she is out of her misery. Why do I feel like Michael Landon?