Sixteen salvatory sausages assured me that everything was going to be okay.
But the muddy mammalia from which the meat had been made
were no more than the friends of the foul fowl brigade.
Mistrusting and mysterious they displayed no signs or compassion or any kind of rational reasoning.
When asked simply - why?
They replied with a series of arbitrary cocks and doodle doo's
- No hi's and how are you's?
This level of rejection is beyond any sort of complex justification, but is merely the result
of attempted farmyard conversation.
