Congratulations tammigirl! It's not everyday you can tell people a pooping chicken brought you such luck.
To keep this all legal, above board and copastetic, look it up youngsters, here are the pictures of that miserable, I mean, amazing day.
Brian Miller had a great idea to print each entry's Blogger picture to be pooped on. I, of course, thought this was a brilliant idea. I also, of course, waited until the last minute to print said pictures. No ink in the printer. So we did this instead.
Then we taped them all together like this. Classy, huh?
When I opened the front door to head to the barn, this is what I saw.
"A few drops of rain, no worries," thought I.
Seconds later, it turned into this.
There was no way I was running to the barn carrying paper so I loaded up the car with grandkids and dogs and off we went for our long journey to the barn.
I had to drive all the way down the driveway,
turn left at the gate,
finally arriving at the barn. It was harrowing.
After carrying kids, dogs, the pooping papers and moving chickens into the barn, I looked like this
and the grid looked like this.
We finally got the chickens to go to the inside coop so we layed the grid down, ready for the pooping to commence.
As chicken fate would have it,
they all ran to the corners refusing to go anywhere near the terrifying foreign object.
At this point, we realized the gate had not been secured behind us when, before we could say Colonel Sanders, Seamus grabbed a chick and headed out the door. Feeling madder than a wet hen at this point, I grabbed the marauding Seamus, lifted the chick from his drooly grip and proceeded to curse all of you for not stopping me from deciding to have a chicken poop on your name to pick a winner for Butts and Ashes first and probably last GIVEAWAY.
Seamus, the Wicked
Curse, curse, curse, get this dirty straw off my face, curse, look at my hair, curse, curse
Hannah, my three year old granddaughter started throwing chicken feed on the grid, singing "Here chickie, chickie," as I sat on the dirt floor of the coop with my head in my hands wondering if I should just start a new blog under an alias.
Suddenly, there was interest
and more interest
with a winner finally chosen.
I have three final things to say.
One, if I EVER get another great idea like this, please, somebody stop me.
Two, did anybody notice there was no longer an attacking rooster in the coop? Can you say, "Chicken dinner?"
Three, Please somebody, anybody, call the fashion police. This woman needs to be arrested. Immediately.