This lot consisted of three elderly ladies in a giant four wheel drive. They were very polite and accepted defeat with good grace when an echoing voice from inside the water tank might have said "either roll yer sleeves up and get stuck in or else piss off yer pack of bloody itinerants...". The child bride, bless her, translated my vague directions as; "He said no thank-you" or possibly claimed it was the frogs in the tank having a chorus. I couldn't quite hear.
Meanwhile the erstwhile Gobbles, self appointed guard bird and anti-salesman defence system, had been girding his loins and was even now entering battle with an interloper that the invaders had unwittingly brought with them. For there, strutting up and down in the shiny new city-clean car, was a large and obviously belligerent tom turkey... So the invaders thought they could fight fire with fire did they? Clearly they had not encountered this particular bird before. Nevertheless Gobbles had to admit this bird had all of the moves. Each peck and thrust was met with a perfectly timed counter thrust, each wing beat was met instantly with the same. Even his puffed up displays, looking like a beach-ball sized feather duster, were faced with an identical display from the enemy.
So as the three old dears loaded up the child bride with copies of magazines such as "The users guide to the pop-up Karma Sutra", "Modern Pagan sacrifice techniques" and "Watchtower" that they hoped would convert the heathens but will ultimately end up as firelighters, they gradually became aware that their vehicle was now under siege as a sad example of mentally deranged poultry did battle with its reflection. Pausing only to drench the turkey with holy water they beat a hasty retreat to the vehicle and locked themselves in as Gobbles lurched across the farmyard screaming "It burns, it burns....".
The last I saw of their big shiny four wheel drive was a cloud of dust with an enraged turkey in hot pursuit. One tough turkey. Gobbles 1, Holy rollers 0.
|Gobbles the victorious.|