sadness
3 stories filed under sadness on Alektorophobia. The newest of them: “Feathers and fond memories: Remembering the goofball hen we lost to a snake”, “When you try to keep it business and your heart clucks anyway”, and “When your heart says cluck but your brain says run”. I was just scrolling through YouTube when I stumbled across a few feathers scattered around my room, feathers that belonged to my sweet, goofball hen. There's a special kind of quiet the morning after you process your first meat birds. Chickens. Everything there is to know about chickens and the fear of them. The list below is every sadness story on Alektorophobia, newest first.
Feathers and fond memories: Remembering the goofball hen we lost to a snake
I was just scrolling through YouTube when I stumbled across a few feathers scattered around my room, feathers that belonged to my sweet, goofball hen. She was the kind of chicken who, even at five months old, couldn't stop chirping, would fall asleep every few steps, and was, bless her heart, a bit dim-witted. A total goofball. But I loved her like crazy. I'd protect her from the other chickens and the dogs, bring her inside to play, feed her separately. She left this world while I was on vacation, a snake got her. It still stings. Now those feathers sit in a little jar on my shelf. Rest in peace, you sweet little fool.
When you try to keep it business and your heart clucks anyway
There's a special kind of quiet the morning after you process your first meat birds. No rooster crows, no funny clucks when you bring breakfast, no beady eyes watching you from the tractor. Just silence. This first-timer did everything right to keep it business, moved the Rangers every night, fed, watered, skipped the names. But hearts don't follow chore lists. Processing was long, hard, and emotionally draining, just as expected. The unexpected part? That hollow feeling when the flock's gone. The internet says it's part of the experience, but I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts.
When your heart says cluck but your brain says run
So your heart says cluck, but your brain says run. That's the exact kind of fowl emotional tug-of-war I live for. This poor soul is caught in that classic chicken-keeper crisis: the feathered friends you adore suddenly become a flock of tiny, beaky terrors when instinct kicks in. It's not irrational, it's honest. And honestly? We've all been there. One minute you're naming them, the next you're side-eyeing that suspicious peck. This post gets that love-hate dance perfectly, and it reminds me of that first-time meat bird raiser who tried to keep it business until their heart clucked anyway. Sometimes the fear is part of the fun. Cluck-tastic chaos, anyone?