Friday, February 2

Mr. Big Pecker has been spotted lurking by the back patio again. He denies it, of course, but he has the biggest pecker tracks around, so I know it's him. When the ground is snow covered, anything that crosses the yard leaves tracks.

Actually, he's a bit pissed at me, so now he's trying to keep tabs on me to devise his next method of attack.

The other day, I walked out on the patio into a layer of fresh snow to find a suspicious, white-covered lump. Well, I just had to poke at it. Big mistake, I know. It turned out to be a big pile of chicken shit.

Mr. Big Pecker shot out from behind the nearby maple tree cackling up a storm.

It could have been worse. If I hadn't been paying attention I might've stepped in it and possibly brought it into the house on the bottom of my snowboot.

However, I only made matters worse, I suppose. I've been saving something especially for Mr. Big Pecker. Little does he know that one of the hens is pissed at him for taking up with that hussy hen with the big white breasts. Miss Sassy bro

ught me a rotten egg and explained her situation. I deposited the egg in a tightly sealed box just inside the door. As Mr. Big Pecker raced across the snow (and let's face it, there is no dignified way for a chicken to run no matter how hard it might try.), I whipped open the door and grabbed the container...

To see how this chicken escapade ends, go HERE. (Yes, I'm wicked, but what can I say?)

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