“The day after I can get to town for some fresh veggies,” I said, “Smithers is getting invited to dinner.”
I’m back. And Smithers is NPO* for his headectomy, scheduled for sometime tomorrow noonish.
For the past day or so he’s been intermittently hassling the newbies, who did not greet this new development with any sign of great distress. It’s funny: As much as I mock the stupidity of chickens, they’re not completely unable to learn from experience. Every one of them associates the dog carrier with Very Bad Things, and when I entered the fortress armed with it there was pandemonium. As soon as I’d captured Smithers, all the others settled right down.
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*He can have all the water he wants, but no food. Butcher a well-fed chicken, and he shits on you from both ends. Disgusting.
Considering the reason Smithers is NPO, he might be more cooperative (not that he needs to go along with your plan) if you tell him it’s “a cleansing fast” to detoxify him, rather than making him go hungry before you chop off his head. Happy eating.
Alas, poor Smithers. His crime is being tasty with thyme and root veg.