Once upon a time, a crazy lady bought twenty-four chicks. The first time her daughter held one of them while they were still little and cute, it pooped on her and her backpack. That was only the beginning.
They got big and and very not-cute fast. Soon, they were too big for their little pen in her office, so she made another pen for them. Then, one died. There were still twenty-three chicks left, and all of them were growing fast.
Soon, they got too big for the two pens. So the crazy chicken lady moved them out into her covered porch where they had a lot of room. But they kept on growing. Before long, the pen was too small for twenty-three medium sized chicks.
The crazy chicken lady finally moved them out into their very own coop, where they could live happily ever after.
Or not. Before she knew what was happening, the coop grew too small for twenty-three largish sized chickens. Finally the day came when all of the roosters could be taken and killed. The crazy chicken lady had thirteen chickens in the freezer, and ten chickens in the coop. The coop wasn't crowded, and life was good.
The crazy chicken lady lived happily ever after.
The End
From my former life, growing up on a farm: the first year we had chickens we bought "unsexed" eggs and ended up with half of them roosters. Since our goal was eggs this didn't work that well. Of course, once we switched to hens-only we couldn't move half them to the freezer as you did - er, I mean, the crazy chicken lady did. But we didn't have nice Amish people to hire for the butchering, so it was better to avoid that part. I hate plucking chickens!
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