Fuzzy Britches
Fuzzy Britches is dying.
She can hardly stand.
Son #2 is beyond distraught.
I got the call at work that when he went up to do his daily chores and his pet chicken could not get up.
For those who do not know Fuzzy Britches is my sons blind hen. She was born not quite right. She never matured correctly and was picked on by the other hens. so i built her her own pen. Her beak overgrows so i have to trim it periodical so that she can eat her chicken feed, no it does not hurt. Her feathers did not grow correctly like the others making her look as if she were wearing fuzzy britches, or pants to you city folks. As my wife's grandfather says "that hen ain't right". She has lived there in her personal pen for two years. My son has carried her around the yard and played with her for this time. She has never laid an egg or done anything other than play with Son #2.
Now she is dying and he is very upset. My wife said that they have all been crying this morning. The kids have all been crying for Daddy to come home and love on them. I am good at that.
I don't expect her to be alive this evening. I do expect a tearful funeral full of youthful eulogizing.
I know she was just a chicken and not a member of the family. On a normal farm she would have been chicken salad about a year and a half ago. but we do not have a normal farm. We are not in the business of raising chickens but raising kids. It is a wonderful thing to have kids grow up with animals to see them born and to see them live their life. It is a shame and not a shame that most pets have shorter lives that humans, but it does build character.
I just don't know how much more character i can stand.
Snagley out.
She can hardly stand.
Son #2 is beyond distraught.
I got the call at work that when he went up to do his daily chores and his pet chicken could not get up.
For those who do not know Fuzzy Britches is my sons blind hen. She was born not quite right. She never matured correctly and was picked on by the other hens. so i built her her own pen. Her beak overgrows so i have to trim it periodical so that she can eat her chicken feed, no it does not hurt. Her feathers did not grow correctly like the others making her look as if she were wearing fuzzy britches, or pants to you city folks. As my wife's grandfather says "that hen ain't right". She has lived there in her personal pen for two years. My son has carried her around the yard and played with her for this time. She has never laid an egg or done anything other than play with Son #2.
Now she is dying and he is very upset. My wife said that they have all been crying this morning. The kids have all been crying for Daddy to come home and love on them. I am good at that.
I don't expect her to be alive this evening. I do expect a tearful funeral full of youthful eulogizing.
I know she was just a chicken and not a member of the family. On a normal farm she would have been chicken salad about a year and a half ago. but we do not have a normal farm. We are not in the business of raising chickens but raising kids. It is a wonderful thing to have kids grow up with animals to see them born and to see them live their life. It is a shame and not a shame that most pets have shorter lives that humans, but it does build character.
I just don't know how much more character i can stand.
Snagley out.
