Don’t give me no lines and keep your hands to yourself

So we raise chickens. Well, that’s not completely accurate. We just purchased chickens a couple of months ago. It’s yet to be seen if we can actually raise them. We just had our first death today. Boy two came in to announce the death. He was somewhat cryptic about the circumstances of the death, so he was actually my primary suspect. He said he discovered the body in the coop, but when The Husband went to investigate, it was actually in the field. He had to elaborate on his story to explain this inconsistency:

I found it in the coop, picked it up by the leg, and threw it in the field. That’s why it’s in the field. 

First of all, gross.
Second of all, haven’t you ever watched CSI? You never tamper with the crime scene.
Third of all, gross, go wash your hands.

He comes back from the bathroom two seconds later with “clean hands.” Yeah right.

You did not wash your hands.
Yes I did.
No you didn’t. Let me smell them.

I lean in for the smell test. I had just enough time to determine that no soap had been used when he reached up and grabbed my face with his dead chicken hands. Are you kidding me?

I’m not sure what killed the chicken, but now I’m kind of hoping it was just blunt force trauma at the hands of Boy Two. At least that can’t be transmitted by skin to skin contact.