In Search of Beyonce (the rooster, not the singer)

We went back to visit Fat Pilgrim when they were open. The store owner was there and apparently was quite aware of the The Blogess’ adoption of the rooster now known as Beyonce. Of course she’d never met Eustice and despite being hopped up on drugs and probably drunk I didn’t have the courage to ask her to pose with Eustice (yes, he’s still pissed at me. Nothing like a pissed off mini-sheep).

Having already met the largest version of the rooster (and shame on me for not finding out the artists name) Eustice gravitated to the smallest version. Here they seem to be admiring this twig. They talked for a little while, there was much head-shaking on the part of the little rusted guy. I think maybe he’d never heard of Beyonce. The adventure continued…

Wonderfully small rusty rooster, My Prince says I cannot take you home with me. 

Clearly hoping that he could meet Beyonce I think Eustice engaged in some ill-advised behavior… 

Rooster: You sir are the smallest sheep I’ve ever seen.
Eustice: Hello then. Nice to meet you. Knock Knock Motherfucker?
Rooster: THE FUCK?!
Eustice: I said, “Knock Knock Motherfucker.”
Larger Rooster: …sputtering….
I think I heard the rooster say something about Eustice’s mother, but I cannot be sure. Eustice says he doesn’t want to talk about it. What happened next happened so fast that there was no way I could photograph it with my cell phone. This was the result: 
I had no idea that Eustice had martial arts training. 
The crate is for your protection, not his. 

Apparently not all of Beyonce’s relatives share his sense of humor. It also explains this:

I am sincerely glad that Eustice did not try this conversation with the 12 foot version! Or if he did, bless the wind for keeping him from being heard!

…which just proves, yet again, that you cannot take us anywhere.


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