Dear Trish the Chicken,
It’s been eight years since your untimely death. I miss you on the reg, but never more so than yesterday.
I went to the Northwest Georgia Poultry Club show in Calhoun, Georgia — an hour northish of where we live now.
By myself.
For no reason beyond curiosity.
I did feel out of place, though. For example, I drive a Volkswagen, not something like this:
Also, I wasn’t wearing camouflage. (An oversight, really. I do own plenty of camo and a general affinity for rednecks.)
The show made me miss you so much, and also miss having a house where we could have chickens. Look at your beautiful brethren!
This looks like some kind of dog!
I thought the sign said “bitchen” at first, and I thought, “Yes, that is a bitchen’ chicken.”
Look at this handsome specimen!
She’s got legs, and knows how to use them.
What a beautiful bird.
This face!
As I am mostly a “city girl,” it’s hard for me to understand some customs. For example, why is one of the judges wearing a Clinique consultant coat and the other is wearing an apron?
Let’s review your skin care regimen.
The apron on the guy on the left says, “Judge.” It makes me fear for the losers of the competition.
The contestants were vying for these trophies. And perhaps the hand sanitizer as well.
And the title of Champion Cock.
These were the sights. You can imagine the smells. Here are the sounds:
Finally, thanks to the onsite Tabernacle of Praise, I was able to say a little prayer for you.
Anyway, it was an interesting Saturday morning.
And I still miss you.
Love always,
Beth
Observe and report 
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