Margaret MacDonald thanked her lucky stars that she happened to look out her kitchen window toward the coop as her foreman grabbed her newly-acquired American Bresse rooster by the neck. A few white feathered fluttered to the ground from the ruffled bird.
"Mr. Butterworth!" Margaret said with feeling. "Do tell me you are not about to decapitate the American Bresse rooster I only this week imported from a stock seller in France."
Jeff kicked his legs rather ineffectively as the lunkhead of a man kept his hand wrapped about his neck. "BWACK!" Jeff cried, although what he truly wanted to say to the lady leaning out her kitchen window was "please, you've got to stop him!" He began to see stars as the man's meaty fist constricted airflow to his lungs.
"Bird looks sick, Ms. MacDonald," her foreman drawled, rooster's neck circled by one fist, his other hand holding a freshly-whetted ax. Jeff continued to kick, albeit more feebly, as the foreman's choking grasp stayed in place.
"High spirits, Mr. Butterworth," she said. "Do put down that prize-winning bird, would you?"
"Surely, ma'am," he complied, but he scowled when the rooster staggered in circles after Butterworth released his grip around its neck. The bird fixed its beady eyes on Butterworth and the gleaming blade of the axe.
"I intend to breed him with my Breese hens as soon as they arrive," she said. "Until then, I expect you to take very good care of this rooster. Put him in with the hens. Let him have some practice."
"BWACK!" Jeff exclaimed. Did she really intend to use him as a stud with a group of pedigreed female chickens?
Meanwhile, Butterworth's chopping hand continued to itch for the chance to whack off a few poultry heads with his heavy axe. He looked down and scoffed at the rooster. He didn't see anything all that special about the bird.
Jeff's head tilted and he suddenly felt an overwhelming sensation. In response, he pecked at the ground like any other chicken.
"Bwack!" Jeff cried. "What was that about?"