What a week! I can feel the blood pulsating through me, granting me life with every throb. In fact, all four of my humors are perfectly in balance. Nothing phlegmatic or choleric over here.
Fresh from our trip to the somewhat beautiful Foxwoods, my precious hens and I are living in perfect harmony. The chickens love each other, they’re eating their ethically-sourced, pelleted feed with gusto, and have good digestional health.
In fact, the entire compound is in great spirits. Travis McTravelFace, who’s a surprisingly adroit cook, decided to whip up some pastries for the rest of us. He asked what we wanted. Uncle Tony P. got a delicate pain au chocolat, Andrea Provolone tried unsuccessfully to stymie him with her request of palmiers, Sr. Pennypacker got his pumpkin empanadas. Me? I’m a sucker for Shipley’s apple fritters. They’re clearly touched by the divine.
My taste buds must be deceiving. Travis’ fritter was amazing! Dense, full of apples, and just the right amount of sweet.
Filled with these comestibles, the whole compound spent the next few days lounging about, reminiscing about last season’s trials and this season’s excitement. A good vibe, most assuredly.
Our collective good vibrations soon took a turn for the worse.
We stepped outside and it felt like . . . . Well, our good friend, EvilMopacATX, said it best.
Even worse, Slan Apecht appeared as the messenger of more bad news. Not looking good.
Even the chickens’ demeanor seemed to dampen in inverse relation to the temperature rising. Nevertheless, they did their level best to remain amicable with themselves and us.
We then remembered we had work to do. The LA Galaxy were coming to town and I had a game score to divine. Grabbing a fresh handful of ethically-sourced, pelleted feed, I scattered it about in our front yard. A peculiar event commenced. Our three chickens simultaneously bent over to their right and ate exactly one piece of feed. I was elated. Indubitably, El FC was going to win.
Rodney, who lays eggs when needed most, inexplicably kicked a pellet and it shot betwixt the legs of San Julius. Our newly beloved Wolfie looked up with me with the saddest gaze of a chicken I’ve ever witnessed.
El FC–1
LA Galaxy–1
Louis de Ludovico
Viewing McKalla as his personal empire, Louis lives for the beautiful game. And food. Especially flamingo tongues. A chicken savant.
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