Chicken Scratch

Oh boy....

Looks like ole Charlie done gone and did it again...

I honestly thought that when I ordered my hamburger at The Stampede last night, I could pick my own cow. That old piece of furry leather fell like a boat anchor when I plugged him with my six gun.

Turns out six guns ain't so legal, at a Stampede. They might wanna post some signs about that...

Once the stinky bits hit the fan, I had to scramble (no pun intended) my little tailfeathers, to avoid getting my pluckin' neck wrung!!

Buk-AAAAAWK!!

Thankfully I was an expert track and fielder, back in Poultry Public Elementary School. My little chicken legs were flailin' , and being short didn't hurt all that much either. A couple of overweight security guards with big country-and-western belt buckles coUld barely reach their pant pockets, let alone a speedy litte spitfire like masself...

Buk-AAAAAWK!!!!!

What a pluckin' mess. I was just starting to impress the little chick running the Chicken Fingers stand. Not sure what the pluck chicken fingers are, but I woulda found out, given a few more moments opportunity...

So, this mornin's paper had this not-so-flatterin' picture of me. I'm gonna have to lay low for a few days, stick around the coop. I don't wanna share a jail cell with ole Conrad Black!!

The coop, by the way, is a cluckin' boiler oven , with temperatures over 30 degrees these last couple of days. My beak is startin' to curl...

Cluck for now!!