We heard an unmerciful squawking just outside the window - then it was further away. We ran outside. The squawking (a rooster's) was, by now, coming from the far end of the garden.
It wasn't Plum for he was safely tucked up with the hens in their new house. It wasn't The One That Everybody Hates or The Other One for they were perched in the old hen house. It had to be Mervyn - too proud to share space with the other bachelors. It had to be Mervyn who has refused to come in these past two nights. It had to be Mervyn who got his wings clipped for flying over the eight foot wire surrounding the new hen run to run with the new hens and fight with Plum. Poor Mervyn. King of the chickens but no match for Foxy.
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