About Chicky Broke

The way I remember my family’s re-telling, when I was a wee lad (three years old or so), my family was raising chickens and had a batch of new chicks. My eldest sister took a liking to the odd chick in the brood, a brown-colored one she named Cinnamon. At one point, I grabbed Cinnamon, with the innocent intention of cuddling with the ill-fated animal, and apparently held on too tightly and killed the poor thing. I meekly informed my family, “chicky broke”. And thus began my lifelong journey of existential angst. Enjoy!