
Clyde's feathers were all puffed out and he was doing this sinister squawking sound that was scaring the daylights out of the dog. The door was only opened an instant when Ol' Buddy shot inside. He looked at me as if to say - "we need to get rid of that evil bird!"
Clyde must be coming of age because he decided later in the day that he didn't like my looks either so he made a little run at me. I gave him a little taste of Mr. Niki tennis shoe and the bird decided to let me live.
I can tell you this, if he pull that stuff with Jilda, we'll be having Clyde the rooster for Sunday dinner.
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