Ken was an interesting man – well, to be precise, he was a bird, a chicken with a voluminous sense of pride. Although residing with other, more docile, chicken Ken had wits and passion rarely found in birds. He had escaped the small poultry farm twice only to be captured again at dawn. He never really planned his escapes. But, this time was different; a pig had foretold his future demise at the hands of a human-butcher. Ken was furious.

“Alright, ladies! Line up!” Ken yelled at the birds while pacing through the dark brown dirt. All the chickens in the pen queued up in formation. “We are descendants of the Tyrannosaurus Rex! We are brave, we are strong, we are predators! Yet, do you know our fate? We’ll be turned into chicken nuggets! I hereby proclaim that we must fight back – let us take the war to them!” Ken subsequently walked over to the short fence gate. With his beak, he skilfully unlatched the door.

The chicken burst out into sweet, sweet freedom. They clamoured up the hill towards the neighbouring house – their first objective.

Ken pecked at the door, bolstered by the flock of chicken stood behind him. The door opened revealing a man standing in the doorway. This was their chance!

“Go, go, go! Attack!!” Ken ordered.

The man looked down at Ken in utter bemusement. “Howdy there!” The chicken appeared to be squawking maniacally.

“Eat him alive!” Ken encouraged. He began to wonder why his brethren wasted time to attack. He looked behind him; not a chicken in sight! Ken had been deserted.

The man bent down and caught a hold of Ken. “Billy! Fire up the grill! Just got us some fresh chicken.”