I swore I was not going to feed chicken to my flock until I knew more about chicken first aid. I kept my promise, sort of.
Yesterday we roasted a Butterball turkey. For the first time in my life I ate so much food for Thanksgiving that I could not eat dessert.
We had so much food that we could not store the leftovers. The turkey drippings from the bag became soup stock. We decided to toss the stripped bones rather than render them for more soup.
Frugal fellow that I am, I just had to give some of it to the chickens. This time, I put out the smaller shreds of meat, the unpopular apple slices, organs, neck, thigh bones, and unidentifiable meatlike substances.
I had to drop the bowl over the fence to avoid death by pecking.
This time everything was very small, very soft, or very big. No choking hazards!
Also, I felt a little better that they were eating a turkey instead of a chicken. I wonder, someday when it is time to feed the flock leftovers from one of their own sisters, will I still feel weird about it or will I be all matter-of-fact?
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