Walking into the pen I had no plan on how to remove the chicken we were about to sell, I thought I was simply going to get it out the cage.
I Tried and failed realising I would have to use my two hands, one carrying a leg. Even so it rested on my hands having the energy only to control it breathing that allowed it to live. I eyed the offensive chicken as I panted wondering since when broiler of twenty-five weeks were too big for a human to carry.
Finally taking it out to the customer, he said three thousand naira. I eyed him trying to hide my disgust thinking about all the struggle I went through to make sure it lived; the amount of money, the drugs, the stress, the number of unhealthy sleep talkless of a routine, the dirtiest moment, sacrifices, injuries and pains I had no time to cater for, the worried lines I had just to make sure they lived.
I held it smiling instead, "No that would be seven thousand thank you." I should have said ten thousand even though it wasn't a deal.