Squatting down in the yard, hands sticky with watermelon juice, hair blowing in my face, sun in my eyes, I thought I could see one too many sharp points at the end of that chicken’s face.
“I think Pepita has a split in her beak,” I said to Bridgette. It was hard to tell; chickens move unpredictably and fast.
A quick internet search revealed that this was …
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