Love thy Neighbor

Bob, whose life was a black abyss.

Ewes of the World broke the scandalous story of Bob and Yortu's (second) break-up, in an exclusive, tell-all interview with Yortu. Such was the heartbreak and anguish that the gossipy bantams took time out from picketing to read the article, and Lecter even ceased his endless barking long enough to read the story in the dim light of his cell.

Shortly before the article went to press, Yortu was spotted fleeing Fiveacres with her and Bob's day-old son, De Sappeared*. The pair haven't been seen since.

Bob, Yortu's jilted lover, was devastated by the disappearance of De Sappeared and Yortu. So much so, that on a dark and stormy Tuesday evening, Bob was seen leaving Fiveacres Farm and wandering dejectedly toward the local Petitentiary. With his head hung low, and his caruncles blue with melancholy, he dragged one foot after the other up the steep (but beautifully-mown) hill, and stopped at the edge of the fence. He drew a heavy breath, and his brow furrowed with concentration. He flexed his wings and leapt, a little unsteadily, over the fence, landing with a loud thump on the deck by Lecter's cell.

Lecter, chained to his cell, had been so busy barking at an imaginary intruder that he hadn't even noticed the real one. At the sound of Bob's somewhat ungraceful landing, Lecter jerked his head up, and blinked. Perched on the deck in the driving rain was a turkey who looked just like Bob, that philandering turkey from Fiveacres who had made the front page of Ewes of the World. Lecter licked his lips, and rummaged around in his cell for some cranberry sauce.

All he found was a half-empty bottle of mint sauce.

Salivating, Lecter crouched, ready to pounce. A young shaver hen, watching the goings on from her nearby coop, shrieked in panic. Bob's eyes flicked up toward the hen, and he gasped.

Even in the pouring rain, the hen's glossy, rust-red shone. Bob's caruncles turned bright red. Who cared about some old turkey when there were hot young chicks out there? He was too young to die. Bob leapt, just in time, into a nearby tree. Seconds later, Lecter crashed with full force into the deck, the mint sauce bottle shattering on impact. Bob perched precariously on his branch, wondering if this time he really was stuffed.

At that very moment, the sound of a late-model european car pulling into the driveway caught Bob's attention. Bob exhaled - surely this was one of the prison guards, here to rescue him. The Neighbor, exiting his late-model european car, surveyed the chaos with horror. The deck was covered in turkey droppings. What would people think? Then the Neighbor's eyes settled on Bob, perched high in the tree, and a slow grin edged its way across his face. The Neighbor rubbed his hands in glee and pulled out his cellphone. Excellent, he said as he dialed Mr Farmer's number. Something else to complain about.

*If you haven't read Freakonomics, you really ought to.