Cock a doodle don't.

You is my bitches.

Predictably, Wickham has got himself into some trouble. He has been behaving in a dead normal teenage rooster fashion at about 5:30 am each day. Unfortunately, this behaviour is carried out fairly close to the neighbours' bedroom window. We told them that we had received a surprise gift when my sister gave him to us, and asked them to tell us if they had any problem and he would be dinner.

Perhaps that was a little heavy handed. They hated it, but didn't tell us until O sought them out to ask how it was going. O has attempted to black out the chook shed (I told you he was handy) and we'll see how it goes in the morning. It hasn't disturbed us because Sage usually wakes up the household at about 5 - 5:30 anyway.

I called my sister to tell her. They already have a rooster, and two is one too many roosters. She spoke with a very hearty tone when she said "We'll eat 'im!". I thought about eating him; anthony and I could talk chicken recipes and say "EVOO" a lot. But I don't think I could eat him. Even though I think he would be utterly delicious.

My sister is made of tougher stuff. They have a lamb at their place, who is named and fed bottles twice a day. I heard my sister calling out to her six year old daughter the other day: "Stop chasing Shaggy! We want all that fat on him!"

I hope Wickham shuts up, or can be satisfactorially rehoused. If not, Stanley our white leghorn will be stoked because she'll be the boss again. I think Barry White will be a bit cut, as she seems to be the favoured one.* I don't think the others will care one way or the other.

* According to my sister, chooks don't have dicks. They just rub their vents together and the rooster oozes a bit. (Well who hasn't had a boyfriend like that?) I tried to check this for accuracy, but got bamgoogled and decided to stop.