I always begged Heff for chickens every time we went into the feed store in Red Bluff around Springtime. I mean how can you resist those fluffy little chicks!? He always said "NO WAY." usually followed by "We'll get chickens when we have kids and have to teach them about death." Buzzkill.

So for my 30th birthday when he could think of nothing else to give me.
I got baby chicks.

Six little tiny fluff balls

and today Francie got her lesson on death and dying.

I didn't think I could blog this. But oh well I'm crossing the line....

Yesterday I went out to give the chickens scraps and fresh water. I was cleaning the cage a little when I hear Francie say "Mom, that chicken has a red bottom." I'm not really listening. "MOM. That CHICKEN has a red BOTTOM!" I look over and MAN THE MOST DISGUSTING THING I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY WHOLE LIFE!! I got myself together enough to quarantine the poor thing away from the others. Then I called my sister to see if I could make her pass out describing it (not that hard to do) then I emailed my friends Sarah and Molly because I couldn't blog this. (time has passed, it's bloggable now.) I forwarded them the email I sent to Heff.

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Heff,

Sorry I just called your phones 3 times, don't want you to worry about girls. We're fine.

However we have a chicken in BAD SHAPE. I've never felt so bad for an animal in my life- and you know I don't have a heart for beasts so that's saying a lot. BOTH red ones are getting pecked but one has no butt left. It looks like a gigantic hemorrhoid where it's back end used to be. It's bad. I put both red chickens on one side of feeders and built a temporary block to keep safe from the mean ones. They are both drinking water and eating but MAN it's sick. what should I do? Cut off it's head or something? shit.
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(sorry to swear on a family friendly blog. But you would too if you saw this.)

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it got worse but I won't go into details or post the string of emails from Sarah and Molly with moral support on what to do. I thought I'd have to kill it myself but I couldn't figure out how to do it. Maureen suggested a large rock or a shovel. I was scared of the spray. I waited until Heff got home. Sorry chicken.

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Heff came home from work, took one look at it and said "Oh yeah that's a death sentence... but I've seen worse." WHAT!? I want to grow up on a farm. He picked it up by it's legs, took it into the garage so the noise wouldn't wake up the neighbors, and whacked it's head off with an axe. I watched of course. Now I really understand the phrase "running around like a chicken with it's head cut off." Head and rear cut off... not a pretty sight.

How do Queenie and Daisy sleep at night?