Before leaving for France, a poulet rescue operation had taken place. A younger chicken had been de-feathered and bloodied almost to death by her nasty older sisters..just because they could. Smearing the unfortunate lady with Super Salve and Rescue Remedy, she was christened Jolly Roger (an eye was questionably still present) and put in a cage on the barn counter in hopes of a recovery. She pulled through, although she now resembled a small turkey vulture who had rolled around in carrion. Inexplicably she thought she'd give the human race a try when making friends and began to follow us around when out and about, avoiding the slathering looks of our dogs (who are confirmed chicken killers). The cat, Mao, sized her up and found her slightly larger than a baby bunny and so gave up her ambitions straightaway.
We left for our adventure, Jolly in the hands of our fine caretakers, and ate many many of her kind and related family members, their livers and such. Delicieux! A month later we found her to be magnificently feathered, not laying any eggs and practicing a Cockadoodledoo that sounded like she may have been smoking for the last 30 years. Huh? Well, he/she now follows us where ever we go, including the half mile round trip to the mailbox, the dogs think she/he's a dog (or vice versa) and ignore her and she shits all over the barn floor, which is our front door...
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