I've seen it ALL!!!

You know, when you live in an apartment community, you never know what you're going to experience.
Case it point. Rob and I were sitting on our lovely thrid floor balcony, enjoying the changing leaves. This is something we do pretty frequently...
I just happened to look to my left, and saw a man walking toward the trees. I thought he was carrying a white dog with a red ribbon. He puts the "dog" on the ground and I realize that the cute little puppy is a chicken. That's right, a CHICKEN! I kinda panicked, thinking he was keeping it as a pet or training it to fight. Regardless, a live chicken doesn't belong in an apartment. So, I went inside to get the phone (so Rob could call the management.... I was chicken... no pun intended). I walked back outside to give him the phone and peeked my head around the wall to see if he was still there. He was. And he was, well there's no easy way to put it, slaughtering the chicken. Right out in the middle of the yard! Let's just say that I totally freaked! I know that the chicken pieces in my freezer were once part of a living, breathing, clucking animal.... but I didn't cut it up myself! On a side note, our apartments are not cheap or trashy by any means... we're adjacent to a golf course community... we're talking Real Housewives of Greenville here. Not to mention these are not "accepted social practices of suburban areas in the United States " (Rob asked that I put that in..lol). I don't think that people living here should have to slaughter their own dinner.
So, Rob calls the Club House and tells them that he's watching a gentleman slaughter a chicken. I think they thought he was kidding. After promising that he was indeed telling the truth, they promised to send someone over. Sure enough, about two minutes later two girls (whom we LOVE... they're hilarious) come driving up in a golf cart. Now mind you, I was still hiding behind the corner, but I heard squeamish squeals and "you can't do that here." (Oh yeah, I forgot to say that the whole time the "dinner preparation" is occuring, the guy's on his cell phone.) So the girls drive off and he's standing there with a machete in one hand, dead chicken in the other, and cell phone being held between his ear and shoulder. It really was a comical/ terrifying site.
I thought I'd tell my tale because I'm afraid that Colonal Sanders might come after me for putting a halt to his original recipe. So if you don't hear from me in the next 24 hours, call PETA. I'm sure they'd love this case.