I must cathart because I am completely hysterical right now. I made a huge error in judgment and I can't deal with the fallout.
I thought the dog could dry out from the rain in the garage. I thought the chicks were safe. I was so wrong. Two are still moving but they won't make it. I can't kill them. Two are clearly dead. One I was able to scoop up and save. They are littered throughout the garage. All I could think was how I have to scrape them off the garage floor before the kids come home. How am I going to explain this?
Did I mention I am hysterical? First I saved the one chick. Is she really saved? I don't know. I can't go back out there. Then I bent over and gagged. A lot. I screamed at the dog and smacked her nose. Then I gagged some more. Then I called Scott. I hate it when I have to call him to clean up my messes. I think he was expecting this. I hate that he was expecting this. But I love him for dropping everything to save the children from the images that are seared in my neuropathways.
They are just chickens. Do not name them. I did not. But my children did.
Happy birthday, Alyssa. Your chicken is dead.