The neighbors have a Macaw. It's name is Baby.
Over the weekend, husband said "I think they've also got chickens." I hadn't seen or heard such chickens, but then today I'm in the office with the windows open and I hear this odd strangled sound so I look out the window to make sure my fearless hunters hadn't caught anything they regarded as food/a present, and what did I see? Chickens. A white one and a red one.
This is Fred:
Apparently the eggs are really tasty.
Anyway - this is what my fearless hunters did:
This is Polly. Kipper buried himself in weeds (which will have left burrs all over his coat) and then rushed inside as soon as the danger had passed. I had to coax Polly out from hiding.
Sidenote, I've been using the word "poulet" lately to describe people (or cats) who are being big chickens...because it's French for Chicken and is rather satisfying to say. The irony of calling my cats Big Poulet's regarding their response to actual chickens isn't lost on me.
Back to work, now. (I'm 34,000 words in and in order to be considered for anything aside from the recycling bin I need roughly 50-60 THOUSAND more words.)