The crew at home noticed that Barci was a bit down after all of his attempts to find his brother had failed. What better way to cheer him up than throw a bit of a party. And it was summer all day, so they had to take advantage of it and have a barbeque.
For some reason known only to guys, all of the actual cooking at a barbeque must be done by the guys. And only after the wannabe chef is suitably prepared with beverages. Even if the guy cannot cook to save his life, or in some cases, is substantially smaller than the actual implements, it is the duty of the guy to take care of the barbeque. For some reason the girls generally take refuge elsewhere at this point. I don't know why.
Chickens are no different. Luckily there were several other guys around to rescue the chicken in more ways than one.
And as always, seating is limited at such an event, any perch, no matter how precarious is taken.
And, as always, as the evening progresses, the girls run away, and the guys begin to think of things that really sound like a good idea, but of course, aren't. On this particular evening, Barci decided to disprove the general feeling that chickens couldn't fly. Of course at this point, this particular chicken had difficultly walking, but that was because those cobbles were loose.
Look, I can fly over to my seat there, a piece of cake, just watch.
Very elegant Barci. The most elegant flight I have ever seen. From an inebriated chicken.
Just one question though. What are you doing sitting in the bottom of the bowl?
Hurting, just fill it up with beer, I will swim to the top!
But chickens can't swim!
I could think of worse places to drown.
It was one of those nights.