All My Pretty Chicks.

Amid great fanfare the chicks ( and the chicklets) came home. Each in it’s own customised cardboard box.
Jim has named his ‘Star’ and Kev has named his ‘Angel’. The second I said to Kev that I love the name ‘Angel’ he claimed it was temporary and he’d be changing it soon.
Alas Star is sickly. I didn’t really expect them to last very long, the third, unnamed one didn’t make it through the night at Grandma’s.
Star could barely move, we kept them warm. The Man installed a heating pad into Star’s box hoping that would revive him, but by 9.30 last night he had gone to the great chicken coop in the sky and Jim was devastated.
Their is nothing more heartbreaking to watch than an 8 year old boy losing his chick, well there probably is, but still it was very sad for him and today we are going to have to pull out all the stops on the whole chick funeral thing.
This morning Angel is not looking too genki either.
I discovered also that Kev did not technically ‘win’ the chick. He found it on the road. Someone else had either played and won or their kid had, and knowing they couldn’t raise it, had just left it on the side of the road to be trampled by the crowds. Thing is with this game is, the only possible prize is a chick, it’s not like you play hoping to win the ipod or the X-box and a chick is the booby prize, all you can possibly win is a chick, just like with the goldfish game and the eel game. ( Thank G they didn’t win an eel!)
So why even play the game if you’re not going to keep the prize.
These fairground prize chicks/fish etc and not kept in the best of conditions, so you don’t really expect much longevity, so I hope Kev can pull Angel round.

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