...unless they're grilled or fried or barbecued...
But I love Facebook. A childhood friend, LaRonda, recently found me on Facebook, and I am happy to be back in touch with her. How many Sundays did we spend at each other's house after church when we were little? Countless. She was THE BEST piano player. She had the neatest little playhouse in her back yard. She even had a canopy bed. I especially remember her funny little giggle/cackle laugh. What great memories! But I do have one memory that is not soooooooo great...she had pet chickens.
What in the world!
Who ever heard of such!
So one day I was at her house, and we were outside playing in the yard. I don't remember exactly how it happened, but somehow we were suddenly in the presence of the pet chickens. I remember trying to be so brave and not freak out, but evidently LaRonda sensed my fear. She proceeded to pick up the biggest, ugliest 'ole white chicken in the yard and hurl it right toward me. All I could see was those gigantic, flopping wings and the monstrous claws coming right toward my face.
Don't ask what happened next. I think I have permanently blocked the conclusion of that traumatic event from my memory.
Nearly 30 years later, I still hate chickens.
I hate chicken trucks. I hate chicken houses. I hate the fancy chickens in cages at the DeKalb County VFW fair. I hate ceramic chickens in country kitchens.
But I love Facebook. And I love LaRonda.
...and I forgive her...sigh.....