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"LET THEM EAT ICE CREAM!" I said in my best Marie Antoinette-like voice. And with that, I dumped the half-gallon block of artificially pink "food" into the chicken yard. It was several weeks ago that my yard man came home from the grocery store with this box of ice cream. It was strawberry-flavored, really cheap stuff. "And it was on sale!" he crowed.
But he took only one bite of the fake-colored, fake-flavored delicacy before realizing the error of his ways. "Pfffttt! I can't eat this!" he declared. Seeing as how I'd already commenced tongue-clucking over the purchase, and vowing complete abstinence, it was obvious right away where this ice cream was headed.



But it was raining outside at the time. That ice cream went back into the freezer. Not until today did the yard man's biddies get to show their disdain for it, sporadically ignoring, pecking, turning their backs.

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