- Dec 16, 2011
- 883
- 357
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The chicken wasn’t my daughter who was within seconds of drowning before she was pulled from the water.
The chicken wasn’t my son whose knee was taken out a during High School football.
The chicken wasn’t my wife whose growth tested benign.
The chicken wasn’t my Dad’s whose stroke trimmed a few years off of his life.
The chicken wasn’t my Mother’s whose cancer the Doctors think they got it all, this time.
That was just the chicken that I debated over, wondering what breed I should purchase as I looked through the Poultry catalogues.
That was just the chicken that was temporarily “misplaced” by the USPS and I wondered if it would arrive alive.
That was just the chicken I checked my preparations over and over and over to insure that nothing I did (or didn’t do) would keep it from growing into adulthood.
That was just the chicken the nephew and nieces would treat as a pet, help feed and take care of.
That was just the chicken that I spent time, money and talked to for more than a year.
You still don’t understand why I repeatedly asked you to fix your line fence or confine your dog?
You don’t understand why the police “harassed” you for letting your dog roam unsupervised?
And now you don’t understand why I’m upset? After all, “It was just a chicken.”
Let me ask you this. “Will you bury your own dog or do you want me to worry about that too?”
The chicken wasn’t my son whose knee was taken out a during High School football.
The chicken wasn’t my wife whose growth tested benign.
The chicken wasn’t my Dad’s whose stroke trimmed a few years off of his life.
The chicken wasn’t my Mother’s whose cancer the Doctors think they got it all, this time.
That was just the chicken that I debated over, wondering what breed I should purchase as I looked through the Poultry catalogues.
That was just the chicken that was temporarily “misplaced” by the USPS and I wondered if it would arrive alive.
That was just the chicken I checked my preparations over and over and over to insure that nothing I did (or didn’t do) would keep it from growing into adulthood.
That was just the chicken the nephew and nieces would treat as a pet, help feed and take care of.
That was just the chicken that I spent time, money and talked to for more than a year.
You still don’t understand why I repeatedly asked you to fix your line fence or confine your dog?
You don’t understand why the police “harassed” you for letting your dog roam unsupervised?
And now you don’t understand why I’m upset? After all, “It was just a chicken.”
Let me ask you this. “Will you bury your own dog or do you want me to worry about that too?”
