that one time I picked a chicken.

One of my best friend’s families growing up had a farm in the middle of the growing city of Leawood, Kansas. Being that we were homeschooled, the farm provided some fun educational experiences. It was my first real experience with live chickens. There was quite the assortment of birds at the farm – guineas, traditional-type chickens, and special chickens that had…shall we say…special features. There was the one that was called “Phyllis Diller.” She had a fro, and crazy feathers on her feet. I always liked to see her.

There was a time when my friend offered me the opportunity to “pick a chicken.” I picked a white one named Princess. I checked up on Princess every time I came back to the farm. I could be misremembering this, but it felt like I couldn’t make it to the farm for a while. Next time I showed up, I looked for “my” chicken…and was informed that she was no longer with us. But my friend took me to where they buried her and we had a moment.
Here’s to you, Princess.

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