I know this is a little nutty but everytime I watch the TV show Horders, I turn it off after and have an insane desire to go clean stuff in fear I may become that 78 year old woman with 87 cats and one place to sit in the whole entire ammonia filled house. So I walk into our closet and look over at Sarge's 8 inches of space I have left him (hahaha laughing out loud because it's soooo true) and what happen to catch my eye? I have a little story for you. Three Christmases ago a certain strapping man told his baking fool of a wife that he looooved her fudge. Thriving on his compliment she decided to make him his own batch of her super special fudge in his own little container where little fingers could not get to the tiny morsels. I guess he didn't like it THAT much. Pssh. By the way, that fudge used to be brown, now it's white washed. Can I get anyone some fudge? Maybe I'll give away to the people I don't like for Christmas and smile and act like nothing is wrong. That would be so Debbie.
On a side note no chicken owner likes to wake up and find this on her back porch. Sniff, sniff I am so sorry chickin-licken that you felt life was not worth living. I don't know how to handle this younger generation and their feelings of despair. None of my older girls ever jumped to their death? This younger generation is just reckless. I need Dr. Phil for my chickens!