RIP Chickie
As I was drying off outside a few moments ago, I was hanging out with the chickens. I noticed that there were only five for some reason. I called into my dad and he said he "had an accident on Saturday and thought everyone knew." He came outside on the deck with me and told me that one of the chickens had her head where the door to the crate they are staying in is, and he accidentally shut it on her. Poor, poor Chickie-pi. :(
4 Comments:
You know I think all death is sad. But, uhm, that story made me laugh.
Only a little though. Only a little.
Poor chickens. Chickens always die. I don't know if my chickens are still alive. Maybe I'll visit them someday. But then I'd have to talk to my uncle and aunt. And my uncle would be all "blah blah blah I'm an alcoholic with only one hand blah blah blah." Only, not really. But when he talks that's all I hear. Being repeated over and over again and then I laugh at him and it just turns out bad.
But he only has one hand. How the hell am I NOT suppose to laugh?
That was me. Aka Loser. aka Caragh. Aka... I'm done.
Caraugh has a very mordbid sense of humor. And I always read her name like, "Care-awg"
I'm sorry.
Poor lil' chicken.
That's funny, because I always read Johnny's name "John-awg"
Care-Awg sounds like the name of a Care Bear that didn't quite make it to the Toys R Us shelves.
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