Chickens: (Those with weak stomachs might want to skip this entry; you have been warned.)

I turned the chickens out just now.  It's cold, and of course there are no bugs for them to scratch for, or grass to eat.  But for some reason, they still seem to enjoy some freedom.  As soon as they come out of the henhouse, I toss them a handful of scratch or a slice or two of stale bread.  They've come to expect some sort of treat.

I checked for eggs, and... hallelujah!... three hens are laying now.  That's half the flock.  Not counting the rooster, of course, who thinks his job is to strut around bragging about his prowess.  One of the eggs was blue-green, so Chickie, my pet, has started laying again.  

After putting the eggs away, I went back out to make sure the calves had plenty of sweet feed.

The chickens saw me and came running, looking for another handout.  I had nothing for them, but it was their lucky day:  Iris upchucked some chili I gave her because I was too full, and they did not let it go to waste.  Hey, I warned you!  That's Chickie in the foreground.

  This bunch is SO spoiled!

And then I saw the dead horse.

  I hurried to the fence hollering, "Tude?  Tude!"

Huh?

Nobody will let a guy rest around here.