The Day had come. It was almost time for Murray to venture out into the world again. His friend Bill (the Cat) told Murray he wanted to throw him a bon voyage bash. Well, like any post-adolescent male, (as much as any of them ever get POST-adolescent), Murray needed to burn off some steam. You can only say to a grown chicken, "Bill is bad news!", so many times until you simply have to give up and let your poultry find out for themselves.
Bill wanted Murray to be sent off with style, so he called up his favorite flock of ne'er-do-wells and they kicked up their heels in
a night of wine, women, and song... or something along those lines.
The two of them sounded awfully close to what you'd hear if you strangled a set of bagpipes in a steel mill.
We hadn't realized it, but Murray had picked up a new skill on his travels. Apparently you can make some fairly good scratch
shooting pool in the right circles.
At this point we started to wonder if our impressionable young fowl had gone somewhat wayward. Honestly though, we had expected some errant behavior considering the nature of one of his more recent hosts. Not to say that these people would deliberately lead all manner of livestock astray, but Murray has been known to quite quickly pick up some of the more 'lively' pastimes of his associates.
The triplets. Sounded good at the time.
Oh, Murray really enjoyed them with all their cooing and clucking. A real celebrity right in their own coop. I've seen it a thousand times. A big cock-a-doodle-doo shows up and all the women come running. Nothing like a few adoring hens to get a guy's feathers a-quiverin'.
At this point we were thinking, "Well, that's not so bad. The girls might settle ol' Murray down a bit. He might forget his reasons for leaving and set a spell and make a real nest for himself." We'd forgotten the power of Bill.... Bill hadn't.
Bill and his ever-present habitual substance abusing friend Pee-Wee soon had the Vodka shooters going on the pool table.
Things started to go rapidly down hill at that point. Pee-Wee soon lost all control, laid a hard boiled egg, and began to speak in tongues. Bill arranged a local drinking game called "Boy, am I ever loaded!" and changed the rules every few minutes or so.
The triplets can't hold their liquor. Murray can't handle three drunken chicks, magnet that he is, especially when he's suspended
from the light over the pool table.
When Murray said he wanted to line them up and 'break' them in, we all winked and nudged each other but were able to stop him after we realized what he really meant.
before all hell broke loose.
Now, boys will be boys, but sometimes boys will be incarcerated with large Neanderthal type behemoths named 'Jocko' who
keep telling said boys that they have 'purty mouths'. Bill's been there and it seems that he was determined to ensure that
Murray experienced the whole that the world had to offer. The two of them assaulted a 1987 Pontiac Firefly with a can of
whipped cream (Bill had brought it for the triplets)
and then Murray took out Bill's wimpier cousin Mickey with a pool cue.
The best thing you can do when one of Canada's finest comes to investigate a complaint is to admit your guilt and attempt to
convey an attitude of remorse. Sitting on the arresting officer's vehicle and yelling "SOOOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEE!!!" is not a
recommended strategy.
Staff Sgt. Mel Mitchell of the Lac du Bonnet Royal Canadian Mounted Police pointed this out to our hero as he cuffed him
escorted him to the drunk tank.
Fortunately, the owner of the vandalized car was not willing to go to court to press charges against a drunken chicken and we're still trying to find Mickey and convince him that Murray will be leaving the province soon.
So, with that Murray has taken his swollen head and is off on another adventure somewhere on the planet. We hope he has learned his lesson here and will not push the good nature and wonderful sense of humor of foreign policing agencies with any other illicit activities. Godspeed and come home well, Murray...
Love, Dan and Joy