During and after WWII there
was a Canadian chicken farmer who fed his flock of chickens free leftover grain from a gin-making factory nearby, since chicken
feed was hard to get in winter. The hens
weren’t too thrilled with the taste, but one rooster couldn’t get enough of it
for a few days, and gorged himself finishing off the feeder contents. The farmer found him lying in the yard,
non-responsive and cold, looking very dead indeed. And since they really needed his feathers in
their home pillows, he plucked the rooster and deposited his carcass atop a
pile of still-warm compost. Later that
day, they heard a rooster crowing and,
looking out the window, saw this plucked rooster strutting about the
yard in the snow, shivering and crowing like a banshee. Poor farmer’s wife felt so sorry for him she
knitted a custom jacket for him to wear until the feathers grew back out……
which they did, but I wish we had a picture of that…..
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