One man's pet is frequently another man's problem or snack!
As a child, I had a pet rooster named Cameron but I called him Sir Glad-a-had, because he became the centre piece of our round table.
The rooster is well named in Latin; Gallus Gallus!
Each day he would strut around the yard and garden and each evening we brought him into his make-shift chicken-coup, an old whiskey barrel from the distillery. His confinement and shelter was partly for protection against the urban foxes and partly so that he would not disturb our neighbours. Being a rooster, one of his jobs is to crow loudly and persistently at the rising sun. Whether he can see it or not.
Unfortunately, one day he escaped and every morning thereafter, unable to recapture him immediately, we would cringe as he proudly crowed, loud and long, from a different corner of our sleepy suburban neighbourhood. It took a week to get him back. Best coq au vin I ever tasted!
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