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It was a strange funeral. Just me, my husband Bud and a one-legged chicken.
I was blubbering like a baby; Bud was punching at the rock-hard ground with a pair of post hole diggers and the chicken, wrapped in a soft towel and sprayed with ammonia to keep the neighbor's dog away, was going in the hole.
My sweet little Crippie chicken died. She was the daughter of Russell Crow - who also survived various maladies before being mauled by a passing opossum - layer of many large brown eggs and a good companion.
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