The Chicken That Stayed Til After New Year's

It's still there, sitting in my refrigerator in a snack-size Ziploc bag. I see it every time I open the door. It's at eye level. What is psychologically wrong with my brain that I'm unable to remove that item from my view? Is it because I consider it minor miracle that it doesn't smell like a "gym-sock souffle"? Or do I secretly hope that the chicken will decay and grow some mold, spore, fungal windfall that will cure some disease like bread mold penicillin? Will it evolve before our eyes into some sentient being? It's taking up prime refrigerator real estate. I've got to move it out before it infects the leftover lasagna residing beside it.
It's so little, harmless. It's been there so long it seems like a little, hairy friend. How can I just toss him in the trash bin in our cold garage? Do I have some strange affinity for this little thigh? I got the honey baked ham into some soup and the freezer before it became a porcine petri dish.

I used to have a similar problem with those last crusts of bread: they would sit in the bread box just taking up space and making me think I had more bread available than I really did. But then we discovered the joys of the Pymatuning Spillway. I now stuff those bags of crusts in the bin in my freezer and once a year we feed the gluttonous carp and ducks at the spillway. See images at the link to the right: Pymatuning Spillways Photos.

I need to determine a humane (?) way to dispose of that chicken thigh.

Hormonally yours,
Peg