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Hail, Sweet Home: Running “Fowl” with Satanic Principles

All black melanistic rooster

I’ve always had this dream of owning a couple of chickens. I envisioned having a cute painted coop, with me in my apron spreading seed on the ground while humming to myself like some Disney princess knock-off. I would name my chickens after the Golden Girls sip tea on my porch while watching them peck peaceably in the yard. After moving to suburbia I finally got the chance to experience real chickens; consider my original dream-bubble busted, as tends to happen when we come face to face with real self-sufficiency. Even though my chicken-vision was truly a thing of bucolic fantasy, I was still determined to move forward with my…

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