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Creative Pranking

My trauma is not so severe that I ceased and desisted with the chicken dream, much to my husband's chagrin. The survivor sat quietly in her home and stared off into space until she fell asleep. Which happened often. She wouldn't even preen the dog slobber off. It was just too sad. So I introduced her to a couple of new friends, forbidding my children from naming them.

Not that it makes it easier on the person who finds their lifeless corpses littered throughout the garage, but no naming them.

 The older chick perked up. She stood up. She walked around. She ate. She drank. She pooped. She let the little ones cuddle up to her. I took her off suicide watch.

Now they talk to each other all day. Then they get tired and close their eyes. The forget they are standing up and tip over.

I am easily amused. Thus the name of the blog, you see.

Speaking of chickens, if you haven't seen this, you must. Pranks have certainly evolved since my friend and I kidnapped a couple of guys' pillows and left a ransom note for chocolate chip cookies. Their retaliation consisted of bringing a package of cookies filled with soggy tater tots then later kidnapping Pookie, my bear.

I think we can all agree it was funny at the time but pales in comparison.

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