Another chicken died. I wish I had been around so I could bury her next to Gladys. Poor old Smokey jr. I look at the chickens and the wild animals around the farm, and I wonder how it is that people can kill them so easily.
On the way out last night, the hunters were out in full force. We tried not to walk too close to the ditch, because we didn't want to flush the ducks out for the hunters. Of course, we still flushed them, they'd fly up and then a second or two later, we could hear the guns.
No comments:
Post a Comment