FOUND: Chicken Leg

I am a city girl. I have now lived in Utah longer than any other state I've lived in, but my earliest memories are from when I lived in Florida.

Florida girls are not known for their farming abilities. They are proper, fun, beach-tanned girls!

My older and younger sisters do not seem to have been Florida-ized. Only me. I do not garden; (everything that's not a dog or kid dies in my home) and I cannot cut my own firewood. (Neither can Jackie, though! Check the scar on her leg for proof...)

Heck, I never even touched a lawn-mower until I was 24. TWENTY-FOUR. But, at the ripe old age of 30, I re-stringed (re-strung?) my very own Weed Eater!

I know, pathetic, isn't it?

Want to know another MORE pathetic fact?

I REFUSE to eat meat off a bone. Sounds dumb, I know. (Not dumb to my family. They are chicken wing, drumstick, BBQ rib, T-bone steak kinda people!)

**Sigh**

Was I adopted?

Where am I going with all this seemingly useless info?!

Picture this with me:

It's a beautiful, warm Sunday morning. The sun is shining through the new leaves that are blowing in the gentle breeze. I am sitting on my bum sipping coffee while my fiancee teaches my 11 year old how to scramble eggs. My beautiful little Rat Terriers are frolicking at my feet.

The frolicking becomes intense. Scooter growls. Ruger growls. Sage enters and SAGE growls.

Sage NEVER growls! What the heck is up?

I looked under the table, and Scooter is the center of attention. He has a stick that he is chewing and enjoying. Ruger wants the stick. Sage wants the stick. The fighting ensues.

I reached under the table to grab this stick and rid my furbabies of the evil source of contention.

Scooter growled again, and ran to the corner to hide. SCOOTER NEVER GROWLS AT ME! Once I got closer, I smelled it.

RAW MEAT.

Where did this nasty smelling stick come from? Why were my animals fighting over it?

I grabbed it and it grabbed me back!!!!!

I screamed and jumped back as far as I could.

The stick fell lifeless into the corner. Scooter resumed possession of it.

I sat at the table and started crying. Do you know what I had just touched?

****Remember, I am a CITY girl.****

A chicken leg. Not a foot. A WHOLE LEG! The meat hanging from where it had been severed taunted me. The blood was on my fingers. The leg, which had the foot attached, had CLAWS. The claws lay lifeless and curled inward, shrivelled under the command of my dog's carnivorous chewing.

**YUCK.**

**DOUBLE YUCK**

***CITY GIRL, remember?***

Jimmy could not breathe. He was red in the face and holding his gut, gasping for air. He started laughing. The dogs started barking. Scooter picked the leg back up and I screamed. Andie screamed. Tori screamed.

To end this VERY long and detailed story, Jimmy made ME pick up the leg. He taunted me all through breakfast (which I didn't eat. Do you know where eggs come from?)

Final thought:

Where is the rest of the chicken?!?!?!

(It's not in my backyard or the field behind my house. We checked.)