Where I come in my back door there’s a small dresser with a few things on top of it. It’s just a little shoe closet from Ikea but it’s handy for putting things down on.  On top of it  there’s always a small lamp, a pair of mittens or gardening gloves, depending on the season, and a bowl filled with black oil sunflower seeds for the chickens. Every time I go out the back door, I grab a handful and throw them into the chicken run.

The last week of December, just before Christmas I knew something wasn’t right with Cuddles when she refused to eat them.  I didn’t get too upset because I’d nursed this little chicken back from the brink more than once.  More than twice.  So many times in fact that I’d stopped getting frantic when I saw she was sick because I knew with some antibiotics and syringe feeding for a few days she’d get better .

The last week in December, Cuddles didn’t get better.

I got her 5 years ago from a long gone boyfriend who decided to surprise me with a box full of day old chicks on Easter morning. Obviously he isn’t gone because of his inferior present buying skills. He was astonishingly good in that department. He even had the foresight to supply me with the one thing that would get me through his walking out the door one day. Cuddles.

She was the second smallest chicken in the box of 6 chicks, and even when she was fully grown she was still a lot smaller than the other chickens. I don’t know how much experience you have with chicks but they’re about as cute a thing as God ever made if you believe in that sort of thing.  If not, … she was as cute a thing as Disney could ever make.   Well this one chicken, the second smallest one as I said, took it upon herself to love me like her mama.  She followed me around, clucked to be picked up and sat quietly and contentedly on my lap for as long as I could stand to sit there knowing there were about a billion things to be done around the house.

So when the fella left, she’s what saved me.  Not a therapist, not pills, not crying.  Cuddles. A little brown chicken.  I sat for hours with her relaxed in my lap, her wing stretched down so I could rub the feathers under there.  She’d settle in letting her eyes close, perfectly happy to keep me company until I decided it was time to tackle the world again.

I’d like to say it’s because I’m special.  Because I have some sort of other worldly chicken intuition but the truth is, it was her.  That little chicken liked everyone.  She settled into the tiny laps of kids from around the neighbourhood happily letting them inspect every inch of her, usually the first real livestock they’d ever been close to.  She sat in the lap of a neighbour whose husband had just died and made her laugh.

She wasn’t named Cuddles for nothin’.

Closing the door to the cold behind us, I laid Cuddles down in the makeshift coop I’d created for her in my mudroom.  She wasn’t well.    She’d been living in the mudroom for 3 days so I could constantly check on her and keep her body temperature up.  I wondered if she wouldn’t be happier inside the regular coop with her friends, so that afternoon I had placed her back outside with them.  It was cold that night and she didn’t have the energy to even jump up on her roost so I brought her back in.

I put a small heater in the mudroom, covered the floor with towels to warm it up a bit and made a little nesting box out of some straw and an old wood butter box.  I got her all fed and warmed up then gave her another syringe of antibiotics.  I tucked a bit more straw into her nesting box, put Cuddles inside, gave her a little kiss on the head and told her it was O.K.  She could go.

I knew when I woke up she’d be gone.

I didn’t sleep most of the night and when I finally gave up and came padding downstairs at around 6 in the morning she lifted her head up and looked right at me.

I’ll take this moment to confess that I hoped all night long that Cuddles would die.  That I’d wake up and it would be over.  My stress, her misery … all of it.  You can judge me if you want but I could not, under any circumstances kill her myself.  I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t have chopped her head off any more than I could have chopped my own mother’s head off.

I picked Cuddles up, gave her a bit of food and some water which she ate on her own, and brought her into the living room with me where I sat with her for the morning.

At 12:30 that afternoon I called a local vet.  I may not have been able to do it, but it had to be done.  I scheduled an appointment to have her euthanized.

I was to bring her in at 6:00 p.m. that Friday night just as the vet’s office was closing.

These had been really tiring, stressful days filled with trying to keep her alive, Christmas planning and the general freak show that is the holiday season.    When I called the vet’s office at 5 o’clock to make sure the vet who was putting Cuddles down was back from his house calls the receptionist (who I’d had really unfortunate dealings with earlier in the day) said, Oh No.  He’s not here.   I don’t think he’s coming back.  I explained that I had an appointment to have my pet put down.  He was coming back to the office especially for me.  She sympathetically said “I dunno.  I don’t think he’s coming back though.  Maybe he can see you on Monday.“.  I very unpolitely asked if maybe she could CALL THE MAN AND FIND OUT????  This particular receptionist didn’t seem all that concerned that I had a dying animal in my lap and  I’m not sure what her true vocation in life is but I can tell you right now it isn’t being a receptionist at an animal hospital.  I seriously doubt if she has the common sense to plant peanuts for a living.

At 10 minutes to 6 o’clock I finally called back when I never heard from the receptionist again. “Yeah, no he’s not coming back, she said.  You’ll have to reschedule for Monday.”  I asked once again if she’d actually spoken to him and got some sort of non answer from her at which point I told her she was an idiot and hung up on her.  I also swore. And I’d do it all over again.  She was an idiot who made an already horrible situation almost unbearably worse.

It was Friday night at 6 o’clock.  No other vet would even be open.  And even if they were, finding a vet who would be willing to put a chicken down was never going to happen.  Putting anything avian down is very different than a dog or cat.  It’s harder.

Cuddles was going to have to struggle on her own until Monday, looking up at me like I could do something about it, and me knowing I could  … but just didn’t have it in me to do it.

Then it hit me.  That vet that gave me a bit of advice about Cuddles before.  He was actually a cat vet but he’s a poultry judge who has chickens himself, and he worked part time at a Cat Clinic not far from where I live.

I looked up the number and called right away.  The receptionist answered and told me yes, Dr. Camilleri was working that day but they were closed.  I explained the situation to her.  I blurted out everything about Cuddles and how I knew it seemed stupid because she was a chicken but she was a pet an she was suffering and another vet had just cancelled on me and I’d been trying to help her for days and she just needed help otherwise she’d be like this all wekeend.  Then she said, You know what? Let me call you back in a minute.

And she did.

Dr. Camilleri told me to come up right away.  He understood and he wouldn’t go anywhere until I got there with Cuddles.  I picked Cuddles up in her butter box and walked her out to the car.  It was dark by now and everything is worse in the dark but I felt more relieved than I had in days.

With one act of selflessness, one act of kindness this man who I’d never met, turned my day completely around.

It took about 12 minutes to get to the clinic.  I carried Cuddles inside, and walked her up to the reception desk, apologizing for looking like such a mess and for making them stay late.  The receptionist couldn’t have been nicer or more sympathetic.

Dr. Camilleri came out and said what a beautiful bird Cuddles was and examined her a bit.  He felt here and there, looking for fluid build up and feeling her breastbone to see how thin she was.  After looking at her he let me know I was doing the best thing for her.

We took her into the examination room and he looked at her a bit more while I held her. He explained what he was going to do and how putting a chicken to sleep is a bit trickier but he’d make sure it wasn’t stressful for her.  The Dr. took her out of the room to give her a sedative to keep her calm and get rid of any anxiety she would be feeling.

When he came back with her, Cuddle’s eyelids were starting to close, the way they did when she relaxed into my lap.

Once she was close to being asleep Dr. Camilleri took a tiny needle and pierced her skin.

Not long after that Cuddles was gone.

I had Cuddles cremated and had the ashes returned to me in an urn.  She’s the first pet I’ve ever done that with.

The day I brought her ashes home I was cleaning up the mudroom a little bit. A good cleaning because it had snowed and there was mud in the mudroom of all things.

As I bent down to wipe under that little dresser with the bowl of sunflower seeds on it I found a single brown feather.  A tiny, little downy feather from Cuddles’ last night with me.

I picked it up, walked into the next room and tucked the feather into the ribbon that wraps around her urn.  It sticks out just behind a miniscule little wood plaque that reads “Cuddles”.

My little chicken.


It doesn’t make up for what he did, but … Dr. Camilleri publishes a magazine for poultry lovers, showers and breeders.

If you’d like to look at a sample of it click the picture below.

To subscribe to the magazine, email Dr. Camilleri directly.



  1. Etta says:

    Karen, you and Cuddles were destined to be together. We’ll all miss the tales of Cuddles. Take care.

  2. Leslie Best says:

    I’ve been waiting to read this all weekend. So beautifully written Karen. I could barely see by the end of it.

    Thanks for sharing. <3

  3. Charlotte says:

    Long time reader but finally a first time commenter (I think) to add my thanks for such a beautiful piece about your darling Cuddles. I, too, have shed some secret tears for an Internet stranger’s chicken, those mascara smudges are a tribute to Cuddles and her loving mama. How apt to learn of the white feather story at a time when it was most needed.

  4. Nancy Blue Moon says:

    Karen..I’m so sorry I have been missing you so much…Right now I am sitting here crying like a baby…I don’t know if I ever told you but we did have chickens when I was little and we lived in the country…also I would walk to a local farm to gather eggs with my big brother…Never ever have I seen a chicken like Cuddles…a sweet girl who would run and jump into your lap…she seemed to have genuine love in her tiny heart..She was born to be a pet…Be thankful that she was brought to you or all of her sweetness and love may have gone unnoticed in this crazy world…she may have passed long ago if it wasn’t for your loving tender care for her…I am glad that she is still there with you…and that you can still pick her up and hold her in your lap when you miss her so much that it feels like your heart will break in two…May she still be a comfort to you….Hugs, Nancy

  5. Mark says:

    Wow. Powerful writing (as usual).

    I made the mistake of reading this at work. I didn’t realize how dusty it was there because my eyes suddenly starting watering….

  6. Jill Riley says:

    So sorry, Karen. I’m glad you and Cuddles had each other for as long as you did.

  7. Kristin ferguson says:

    Cuddles sounds like my beloved Tippie. When the chicks arrived in the mail (four of them), one was significantly smaller than the others, and she seemed off-balance and wobbly. Harman (my husband) suggested calling her Rummy (she seemed a bit drunk!), but I suggested Tippie, since she kept tipping over, and then I thought we should name all our pullets after Hitchcock leading ladies (Tippi Hedron, Grace Kelly, Doris Day, Ingrid Bergman), and since Harman is a huge Hitchcock fan, this idea went over well. Five years later, after we’ve lost a brace of hens to a possum and one to fatty liver (!), Tippie is still the sweetest, most friendly hen of all. She comes when I call, she trusts me implicitly, she looks to me for protection. She has countless times hopped up on my lap just to be sociable. Once, she even cuddled next to me and laid an egg (her coop door had blown shut so she couldn’t get in to the nesting box, and I had come out on the patio and sat down, so she cuddled right up to me and plopped an egg out in a big hurry!) I love this little hen; I have saved her from numerous difficult situations, and taken her to the vet for antibiotics more than once. I now have to make sure she eats by placing her right in front of the feeder twice a day. I assume I will eventually have to have her put down, but for now she isn’t in any pain. And she is my darling.

  8. Stephbo says:

    This was such a beautiful remembrance of sweet Cuddles and what she meant to you. I went through a similar situation with my beloved soul cat almost 3 years ago, and it’s still hard to think about. I’m going to a celebrating/memorial service tomorrow for him and my three other babies that I lost last year. It’s a nice little thing that the crematorium does for the owners. I’ll be sure to whisper a little extra prayer for Cuddles while I’m there.

  9. Kim says:

    Oh Karen. Sitting here w/ tears in my eyes as I read this. I’m so sorry for your loss. It was clear to everyone how much you loved her and how very special she was.

  10. Cred says:

    Thank you for sharing Cuddles’ story. Heart-wrenching and beautiful! Such a lovely little hen she was- I’m glad that she found herself as you pet- you gave her a great life and clearly, she enriched yours.

  11. Renee says:

    I am sorry for your loss, but so happy you had a wonderful chicken in your life. Thank you for sharing your and Cuddle’s story.

  12. Jackie says:

    I started Reading that beautiful story last night and had to put it aside till no kids/distractions around. When I did finally read the whole story ~ wow! Just beautiful! ANd you will hold her again some day, I totally believe that!!!! I totally feel for you. Anyone who has ever lost a pet “gets it”. What a beautiful, wonderful thing came out of the yucky boyfriend relationship: Cuddles & the love you two had for one another. **btw – my eyes looked like red rimmed bull frog eyes after I ready your touching tribute, NOT attractive on a Friday night :) ** xxx

  13. Tammy says:

    Sweet sweet Cuddles. Thank you Karen for being the best mama. Hugs xxx

  14. Miriam says:

    I put off reading this for a long time because I knew I would weep. Letting go of our pets is so hard. Being selfless is hard. Knowing we did as much for them as we could is meagre consolation at best.

  15. shawna says:

    That was a very real and touching story about Cuddles’ last few days Karen. I was so relieved to read that you found a doctor/vet who was empathetic and kind. Dr. Camilleri sounds like a special person. It sure seems that you and Cuddles had a unique bond. Isn’t it funny how certain pets seem to have an uncanny way of knowing what we need emotionally? I’m glad you had Cuddles in your life, even if it was for a short time.
    I am sorry for your loss.


  16. Cynthia says:

    Noooo, not Cuddles. So sad. I was crying into my eggs this morning as I read your post. Thank you for sharing her journey with us. I’ve used some of your chicken findings/info with my sweet, babies. It’s wonderful how those little bundles of fluff become a part of your heart.

  17. Jac says:

    Aw, sheeezzzz…I HATE crying :\ Seriously. I do. I avoid sad movies like the Plague. But as a Chicken Mom myself, I’ve been waiting for this despite the guaranteed tear-fest. Thanks for sharing, Karen; I know it couldn’t have been easy for you. I’m glad you found the feather(s) as they must have brought you a smile through your tears. Everyone did their part in the Plan, here, as she was meant to comfort and heal you and you her. I guess death is the final healing in that it releases pain and earthly cares.

    Did the vet say if he thought it was that internal egg-laying thing?

    • Karen says:

      Oh she was definitely an internal egg layer. I knew that. And when he felt around her body she was definitely filled with fluid. Poor little thing. ~ karen!

  18. Karen says:

    It’s early Saturday morning. Everyone is still sleeping. And I’m awaiting the delivery of my new washer dryer. The delivery guys for sure are going to wonder ‘what’s up with this lady?’ I have put off reading this entry because I just knew what was going to happen. Well congrats Karen you nailed it. Yep I lost it. So sorry you lost your sweet Cuddles.

  19. Jane Keene says:

    Karen…I am so very sorry about Cuddles….she was extraordinary!! Loved reading all the stories you shared with us. She was a very lucky girl to have chosen you to be her mama. Our pets are our family and it is so hard to let them go. I always swear after I lose one, I’m done…can’t go through it again. Then another cat finds me. I never go looking for one. I believe feathers are a connection and she is with you. Take care of you and Cheez Whiz?

  20. Debbe Van Ness says:

    Well, I’m sitting here crying, but I knew I would. A lovely tribute to a special soul. I’m sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing.

  21. Ritz says:

    Thank you for making me feel sad, and sorry, Karen.

  22. Margot says:

    Thank you for having the courage to share this. I have not cried this much since going through something similar. You made the hardest of calls, to put Cuddles comfort ahead of your own heart. You are a good chicken mum and a kind and good person.

  23. Mindy says:

    Great.. now I’m crying. Thankfully, the kids are in bed and The Dad is out with the boys. So I shall feel your sorrow fully.

  24. Lisa says:

    That is the most beautiful love story ever! Thank you for sharing.

  25. Rachel says:

    Release. That’s what it’s about. You’ve finally spoken and we heard. Once upon a time my love and fiancé was diagnosed with MS around the same time my mama was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I gave up my fiancé to England where came his help and nursed my mother here. I began a new relationship with the father of my son and became pregnant. My son was born with Hydrocephalus in utero, water around the brain and doctors said to come in and take him out because he would be born dead. He didn’t die but we struggled with hospitals and seeing a lot of suffering, shunt surgery at 10 days old and seizures that I thought would kill him. We saw other children suffering in so many different ways. Our son was finally diagnosed with Autism. He has gifts I will not share entirely until I understand how he feels about them. My mother passed away when he was one year old. Two sickies in bed together, memories of that last year. I’ve been to hell but I came back. Bad things happen to make way for the new. A new Understanding of life on this planet. So you understand loss, even if it’s an animal, no difference. It’s horrible but you are now stronger and know where true love lies and you’ve made important friendships because of it. 2 years ago my husband fist bumped my son’s neurologist and surgeon Jouvert morning ( carnival Monday morning mass). I don’t expect any response to me sharing this, because only those who have seen can understand and that’s really ok. Cuddles had a special mom. And life was great with you, period. That’s all we ever need from life is to have a good one while we are here. Right now I’m fighting with my foundation to provide therapy for ASD kids in need, as I live in a third world nation with little knowledge of Autism, and wanting to adopt a little boy who was left home alone by his father when he was 3 years old, Austistic and motherless. My OT wants him too so we’re looking for lawyers to help us. He lives in the paediatric ward and is in restraints for most part of the day. Life is sh*t but the great ones strive to make it better for others. You do that everyday with this blog. Great watercolour by the way, came out almost as good as mine. ?

  26. Sonja Donnelly says:

    Many people might say, Just a chicken, but we know differently, Every living creature has its own personality. And Cuddles was a loving chicken! It was a mutual affection where you both gave and received enormous love.
    I sat one afternoon in my neighbors yard with her chickens. It was fun to watch how they interacted. I did five small paintings attempting to show their personalities. The small series I titled Chicken Sh*t. I wish I could send you pictures of my paintings but your blog does not allow for that.
    I am a bit of a crazy artist and I once photographed a bird that flew into my window and died. I photographed his beautifully colored wings and delicate feet and set it to music. My family thought I was nuts, but for me I felt I was honoring the beauty and joy this and other lovely bird bring into my life and the world .
    I respect the compassion you and many people like you have for your pets. To some she may be just a chicken, but given a chance with an open heart,” Love” enters and can save the world.
    Now please pass the Kleenex.

  27. Sherry Haning says:

    Your story about Cuddles brought me to tears. I am so glad you had her as a pet. God bless you and Cuddles!

  28. Meghan says:

    Oh the tears. Karen I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing her story with us. I always loved hearing about Cuddles and even named one of my sister’s chickens after her. Though my sister should be banned from ever owning anything living again….we won’t go there. I’m so deeply touched by her story and the caring vet that made things easier, or as easy as they could be. The kindness and compassion of a good veterinarian and their staff can not be understated.

  29. Danielle M. says:

    Never in all my years did I think I would cry over a chicken. But Cuddles? The special one she was and what she meant to you? Tears shed.

    And that feather is a gift I’m glad you received.

  30. Michele says:

    Man Karen,
    My husband just walked in the room and said “Are you ok? What’s wrong?” I said “Karen’s Cuddles died.” He just looked at me and with a big smile and said “You have to post a comment to your fellow Chicken Girl!” Here I am waiting for your post on Cuddles crying on a Friday evening. That receptionist!!!!….Like my sister and I always say, we want to just Pow! Bam! beat the crap out of those kind of people.
    So wonderful of Cuddles to leave you a sign that she’s with you!

    Thanks Karen for sharing!!!!!

  31. Ann Brookens says:

    Oh, my goodness, Karen! As soon as I read the title, I thought, “Get out the handkerchief! That’s gonna make me cry!” And it did. What a stressful time for you. Cuddles was an amazing, unusual chicken and you were both lucky that she ended up with you. I’m so sorry that she is gone. Lots of hugs!

  32. Theda says:

    Karen, sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing.

  33. Jen says:

    I’m so sorry to hear about Cuddles.

  34. Jasmine says:

    So sorry for your loss Karen. Your heartbreak truly shone through the story of Cuddles. Sending you a virtual hug.

  35. Katie says:

    Our pets leave us too soon. We’ll all miss Cuddles.

  36. Therese says:

    Karen, I’m so sorry. I feel the same way about my chickens and have recently said goodbye to my favourite, Selma, in exactly the same way. Hens are all different and truly do have their own personalities. Cuddles was a real character. Luckily for me I had a lovely vet and sensitive receptionist from the start. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been to go through that first bit. Don’t use them again! A beautifully written tribute. I’m crying my eyes out. Hope you are feeling a bit better now :)

  37. Marty says:

    I’m crying with you……
    God bless and comfort you. ♥️♥️?

  38. Thank you for not stopping in your quest to give your feathered friend a peaceful and loving transition. I felt that story in my heart; I wrote a similar piece about the loss of a furry companion. The story will stay with me and everyone who reads it; her legacy.

  39. Rose says:

    I am sobbing – I know what it is to hope (pray if you believe in that kind of thing) that a beloved pet will die in the night so that I do not have to proactively be the one to initiate the end. I don’t have chickens but I’m tempted to subscribe to Dr. Camilleri’s magazine just to show gratitude for his compassion to you.

  40. Deborah says:

    Thank you for sharing your experience; I’m sitting here in tears. The love and truth you tell resonates strongly and with integrity. You showed up for her when she needed you and that’s all any of us can do. I hope your love for Cuddles and your good memories bring you lasting comfort. Love never ends.

  41. Judi wigren says:

    We feel so bad for your loss. We love our ” girls” too but have none that sound as cuddly.

  42. janpartist says:

    Wow, beautifully written with love. I’m crying here at work (and I sit at the reception desk). Generous of you to share such a private story. Blessings to you.

  43. olga says:

    Aww, I read the part when you said you told her it’s okay, she can go and it reminded me of my mother passing away. I had to fly 14 hrs to see her because cancer took over her, and the whole time going there, I was just praying and asking to keep her here with us so I can say goodbye to her. When I finally saw her and we got her to hospice I was praying to give her little bit more time with me. Two weeks later I was praying to the men upstairs just take her and I told her it’s okay to let go now. In the words of my own mother “one day we will all have to say good-bye to each other”. You were good mama to Cuddles, I’m sorry about your loss.

  44. SusanR says:

    The world is a better place for having your heart in it.

  45. Kathy says:

    I decided to take a few moments to sit on the couch with my Chihuahua Bella before going to the grocery store. I take a quick look at emails and well I’ll just read Karen and then leave.
    Maybe it is my age but I am so aware that she is 10 and the flip side of the care and laughs will be when the sweetest rescue dog friend passes away. You words put me in the room as cuddles held you. We are lucky to find an animal that brings love. I need to check a mirror to see if I can possibly still go to the store.

  46. kelli says:

    Did someone start cutting onions in here???

    Dog, cat, chicken, it doesn’t matter. She’s YOUR BABY, and you want all things good for her.

    *hugs* Just…hugs.

  47. Trissi V. says:

    Karen, I am so sorry for you loss. Cuddles was a wonderful chicken. I loved the stories you told of her and how she was always ready for a closeup. Your tribute was lovely, though I don’t think I was prepared to read it…I cried like everyone else here. From the sounds of the comments, a lot of tears have been shed for you and Cuddles. Thank you for sharing with us, thank you to Dr. Camilleri for being a totally awesome vet…and RIP Cuddles, you really have no clue how you will be missed.

  48. Reggie Hargitt says:

    I am so sorry to hear about Cuddles.

    In November my 18 year old cat, Fergus, woke up one morning unable to move his back legs. For his age he had been quit healthy so this was out of the blue. My heart broke because he seemed to be so confused by his inability to move around. And he was in pain.

    I called the vet and got him in right away. She determined he either had a tumor or blood clot on his spine. Either way he would not recover.

    Fergus did not like to be held but he curled up on my chest and looked at me till we got to the vet. I had been going to leave for the weekend but waited to leave one day to finish up some things at home. Had I left as planned Fergus would have been alone to suffer. I was so grateful to be there for him. I cannot express how awful knowing he was alone and suffering would have been.

    I so relate to your need to make sure Cuddles was cared for and gently let go. She was a wonderful bird and Fergus was a great old boy and deserved our love.

    All the best to you,

  49. rktrix says:

    Oh, Karen, I’m so, so sorry for your loss. Isn’t is amazing, the power pets have to help us? To put us in touch with our feelings, but remind us that life goes on. Such blessings.

    Another blessing is that kindly vet who stayed open a little longer, as well as his sweet and caring receptionist. They are living right and doing right. I hope they know how much that sort of end of life care means to the patient and his / her guardian family.

    As for the other receptionist, I’m hoping Santa brought coal for her stocking. Or maybe sent Krampus her way. That’ll teach her!

    Hang in there, Karen. (((((hugs)))))

  50. Marti says:

    I don’t even have the heart to make my usual “end of [Karen’s poultry] days” cracks. I am so sorry for your loss. I knew she was a great chicken but had no idea egg-zactly (ha! one small pun. surely that’s harmless?) how meaningful she had been in your life. I remember that unhappy period and I’m so glad to know that she was with you through it.

    And oddlly, I believe in chicken heaven. Which does not in any way resemble KFC.

    Have a great weekend, Karen. Surely there will be another chick you connect with, in a different but also loving way, in the future. And I’ll keep eating… FISH… in Cuddles’ honor.

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