The chicken genocide

   I remember one year when my dad felt it was more economical to rare few chickens at home that we could kill and eat whenever we wanted to. Well, how did that work out?
   There was a small cage outside the house and the chickens were well fed and lived happily as long as they stayed in their cage.
Not too far from their cage was my dog's cage.
   My dog was usually chained most times and was only unchained whenever my  brothers were on break because no one had the courage to tame the dog or let alone chain it back. and no one ever tried. We could only feed it, this was actually a process I'd rather not speak about. I could imagine my dog staring at those chickens everyday and wondering how fun it would be to chase them around the compound and maybe kill them. Well those days of wondering finally came to an end for my dog.
    That faithful morning, we all woke up to a beautiful Saturday morning after a very exhausting Friday night. And what did we see? Our morning was greeted with a chicken genocide. On the floor lied our beloved chickens brutally murdered in cold blood. Everyone was so confused and my mum was already talking about a bad omen until my younger brother asked where my dog was, we looked at its cage, and it was not there.
    I didn't know whether to take cover or carry on with the investigation. It wasn't up to two minutes later when we saw my dog chasing the last chicken. We tried distracting the dog through every means, my brother and my dad also ran after the dog but it was to fast and focused on its prey.
 My dad kept screaming " Bruno, don't you know me!!! don't you know me!!! "
I watched how that chicken ran for it's life and all I prayed was never to be in a position as that chicken. At some point the chicken tried the "playing dead" trick but my dog kept tossing and tossing it and then it realised that plan wasn't going to work and then it returned to the "run for your life" plan but I was already to late, my dog strangled it to death.
     My brother succeeded in holding down the dog. We all strolled down the crime scene that morning where all the dead chickens and feathers were littered. The dog didn't eat any of them, it never dismembered any of their body parts. It was just like a serial killer who derived joy in killing the poor chickens for no reason. My father at that point didn't know what to do.
Something happened when my younger brother got to the dog's cage to chain it, inside the cage Was The last surviving chicken. I still don't understand how that chicken discovered that the safest place to hide during the genocide was in her predator's cage. (That's a consolation for anyone that a professor has ever called chicken brain).
     As for the chickens which weren't premature, or had any pathological cause of death. I wonder what happened to them🤷🤷. We lost my dog two years ago 😟, and I wasn't quite sure if  my dad was sad because the dog died or because the dog that ate his chickens died. 🤔🤔