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Wednesday, December 7, 2016

My Chicken Might Be a Nazi

Most of you won’t be interested in this because let’s face it, most materialistic, two dimensional, shallow people don’t care about chickens. 

What the hell is a chicken? Some of you will ask.

But I know YOU care.

High five, secret handshake, hand hug, you beautiful chicken aficionado.

Hodor, my adorable chicken, is still in medical incarceration in the cat cage.

He is still a paraplegic... although one leg is now twitching. It’s been ten long days of quarantine.

I’ve been doing some research and apparently it may be the dreaded scaly leg mite which is causing his affliction.

Apparently the victims of scaly leg mites begin with symptoms of walking like Prussian soldiers and eventually succumb to paralysis.

I’ve never seen a Prussian soldier marching but I do recall Hodor (in the early stages of his illness) and I remember thinking… this chicken is a fudging Nazi what with the goose-stepping thing. He was definitely walking like some kind of Neo-Nazi weirdo.

Anyway the treatment plan I discovered on the Internet was quite elaborate but today, Scotto and I followed it to the T.

*Wash the chicken in shampoo (prepare chicken).

Chicken being shampooed

*Rinse chicken with clear water and a dash of Apple Cider Vinegar until water runs clear (drizzle chicken with vinegar).

*Pat dry chicken with paper towels and massage oil into it legs up to the knees, NB: not motor oil (baste chicken).

* Spread petroleum jelly all over chicken’s legs and feathers (seal the flesh and allow chicken to absorb juices).

* Powder chicken with anti-parasite talcum to ensure any living bacteria is decimated (season chicken lavishly with spices).

*Make sure chicken is warm and leave for a while (bake chicken at 180 degrees for one and a half hours).

Surprisingly, despite the fact that a warm bath should in fact be soothing, Hodor seemed not a small bit alarmed.

The whole time during the procedure, he was watching me out of one eye.

All this trouble for a twelve dollar chicken, eh.

You can’t buy love, huh?