The big fat chicken Honey Boo-Boo fights back!

The time had come to put all compassion into the tightly fitted box at the back of my mind. A chicken is born to be eaten and Honey Boo-Boo was a chicken. The natural order must prevail, man against bird. Two enter the theater, only one walks out. Besides, we had this nice supper planned for today.

I rose early, earlier than I usually do so I could prepare. I gave thanks to the assembly of spirits that surrounds my hearth and humble home and dressed in clothing I reserve for only one purpose. If I ever happened to make my way into town wearing them I may be detained by the police - they're stained with patterns that leave little to the imagination. I quietly slipped out the door as not to disturb my wife. She's a little squeamish about the darker business of raising chickens. I tied a camo scarf around my head to keep my hair back and calmed my nerves by stroking my beard for a moment or two. Killing has never come easily for me, regardless of how often I've done it.

I lifted the tarp off the temporary shelter I'd placed Honey Boo-Boo in the night before and then I lifted the lid. She looked up at me and raised one wing slowly, the middle feather extended.

"So, it's going to be like that eh?" I said. The chicken nodded, her yellow eyes gleaming with hatred.

I reached into the enclosure to grab her. She shifted back into he corner so I had to lean in more. As soon as I was fully extended she struck! Honey Boo-Boo had a small shank in her other wing! She stabbed me three times in the hand and arm. I was off balance to begin with; completely unprepared when she took advantage of the situation by pulling me in with her beak. I landed hard and slightly dazed. I was just able to get an arm up to defend myself against the next onslaught of her mad thrusting, even so I still sustained a couple more defensive wounds in my arms. I kicked out and caught her in one of those meaty thighs. As Honey Boo-Boo flew back I noticed she was a lot more muscular than I'd thought she was. That chicken must have been secretly working out, planning for the very moment we were in. With a final crazy charge towards me she scrabbled up my body and over my head, and then she was out in the yard running faster than I'd ever seen a chicken run before.

Listening to her cluck with glee as she fled down the lane way I screamed out, " This isn't over Honey Boo-Boo, this isn't over by a mile you dirty bird!"

I pulled myself out of the box and wiped off as much chicken shit as I could. Then I went to the pump and washed my wounds. My wife and beagle came running, having been awoken by the commotion.

Seeing the cuts she smiled to hide her concern. "No more chickens, okay?" Then she got out the antiseptic and dressed my wounds. My dog just laughed at me, making me blush in shame.

I know what I have to do tonight. We can't have a rouge chicken running around.