The 4th Hot Dog of July

Bitch stole my outfit.

As a temporarily unemployed hen, my Fourth of July weekend turned into a Fourth of July week. But with hen friends in the coup and enjoying the sights and sounds of new barns and fresh chicken wire, I prolonged my visits and kept cackling. While away from my own farm, I also met a few hens in northern Florida who just didn't understand me. When they assumed, they made an ass of u and me and everyone in between.

For the USA's special day, a few of us hens met at our friend, Erin's house and flapped along to a party at Erin's friend's coup. With the promise of hot dogs and fireworks, I gladly joined. The celebration started in typical cross-group party fashion: one circle of long-time friends each introducing themselves to another circle of long-time friends, and no one remembering anyone's name, including the company we came with. Who's Erin?