The latest episode from the talking bird from Turkey ~ Brian guest writer from Uncle Spikes Adventures 

just read on…   here is Chapter 12 ~               [   catch up link to previous episodes  ❤  ]

Hey Aunty Gill – yep, I’m still here!
BUT…
I’m “on notice”, as Farmer Spike says, and may help add to the bags of frozen soup if I don’t change my ways – oops! You see, this past month or so I’ve been having some teenage issues, and I’ve done some dumb stuff Aunty Gill .

Every day, Farmer Spike lets us out from under the steps, a.k.a. ‘home’, and throws us a hand full of barley each to peck at. To be honest, Farmer Spike is a nice guy, as even though we roam free each day, and this food is not a necessity, we’ve come to expect such offerings every morning and again at dusk.
When Farmer Spike’s mom is here, or Great Aunt Spike as we call her, she usually feeds us biscuits around 4 o’clock in the afternoon too. This is ace, and we learnt to scoff right out of her hand too  She’s an octogenarian apparently; although I have absolutely no idea what that is, coz she only has two arms n legs, not eight!

Anyway, talking of Great Aunt Spike and her arms n legs; well, that’s part of my problem. In my excitement to scoff said biccies each day, I started to follow her. Then one day I wanted the biccies before she was ready, and then sort of chased her… Now’ I’m a placid sort of chap really, but biccies are just sooooo yum, that I sort of lose myself. Then one day I went too far, and side-kicked Great Aunt Spike with my spurs (rear facing fighting talons), tearing a small gash in her leg, and receiving a few cuss words and a wave with her stick in doing so. Great Aunt Spike told me off big time, but being a bolshie teenager, I didn’t listen much.

No biccies for a few days.
A week later, and Great Aunt Spike went back home, after another seven week ‘tour of duty’ here on Spike’s Farm. Now, Farmer Spike doesn’t do ‘biccies’ for us, and so we were feeling a little put out, so guess what this little dumb-butt did; I side-swiped Farmer Spike too in my frustration about the biccies dilemma.
Oops, my bad! He is quicker than I thought for an old’un, and I received a steel-toed boot up my feathered jacksy for my sins. Ouch that hurt [grrrrr]; but Farmer Spike wasn’t done, oh no. He chased after me, shouting all sorts of stuff I wasn’t sure of (but sounded naughty I think).
Anyway Aunty Gill, I’m still here, but Farmer Spike says if I do that one more time, then I’ll be helping him make some soup. Now, I’m not quite sure what that entails, but he seemed to imply I wouldn’t like it.
Well, best off… will write towards the year end. Love n stuff Aunty Gill, from yer Rooster Nephew, Brian xx

Dear Brian
Behave yourself!
Take my advice…
Love Aunty Gill xxx