The McCoy hounds struck again. They got a little spring chicken. One of the sixteen that hatched at the same time.
Farmer H found a pile of black feathers over in the BARn field. So like those McCoy curs, to pluck the poultry on our property, then take the naked bird back home to ingest at their leisure.
Maybe it's a conspiracy. The McCoys train their hounds to catch, kill, pluck, and deliver. Then the humans bake the fowl. The tantalizing, tasty, succulent little pet of The Pony. While they suck their teeth and wipe the grease on the backs of their hands, they argue over whether the rooster has sex with the chicken or the hen.
One thing's for sure. I would never take them a Marble Rye.