The end of the chicken era

I came back home after a week long trip to the Capitol and just got off an awful 22 hour taxi brousse ride to find out that I have one less responsibility in life. 

I'll translate the conversation in English.

"Welcome Kelsey! How are you?"

"Hi! I'm fine, happy to be home! What's new here?!" 

"Ohhh, no news, no news."

Five minutes into nonsense chit chat. 

"Okay, bye!" And as my neighbor walks away she says, "and your chickens died. All of your chickens." 

And I guess it was in that second that as a matter of fact there weren't any chickens at my feet waiting to be fed, there were no chirping sounds. This is also when I guess it hit me that that time in life was fun, when I had chickens...but now I don't. And then I got extremely sad. Not because I left and all of my chickens died but because I let them die and took on too big of a task in thinking I could raise that many god damn chickens in the first place. 

Sorry chickens, with my next batch (whenever that may be) I'll be a better chicken raiser! 

Mama Fandra with her 13 little chickadees, may you rest in peace. 

Fandra in her prime years.