“Paul got chickens???” My best friend Cynthia texted me one afternoon.
“Chickens?” I texted back. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “Like, as pets?”
She sent me a screen shot of Paul’s instagram, the latest picture featuring five chickens outside on grass beside my estranged cat, Zart.
“Chickens!” I texted back. “Are they for eggs? Or are they going to eat them?”
Cynthia couldn’t answer those questions. I zoomed in on the picture a little more closely. His caption read happily. Like he fully intended to have chickens in his back yard. Not like they were some wild animals that had unexpectedly wandered onto his property. Paul wanted chickens. Of course he did. Where do you even get chickens?
“What do they do with the chickens in the winter?” I wondered, knowing that Cynthia wouldn’t be able to answer that either. She knew as much about…
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