I was racing up the basement stairs hoping that the plastic bag holding the chicken wouldn't leak on the floor. I really didn't want to deal with extracting chicken juice out of the sand colored carpet. The bag was surprisingly heavy but I kept my speed up pretty well. As I neared the finish line- my kitchen- I started to laugh. My husband, hearing the commotion, asked what I was doing. I answered,
"I'm running with chickens."
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