Travolta the Turkey.

Turkeys must be eternally grateful that they were marked for domestic cultivation, because I am certain that failing human protection, evolution would have weeded them out along with the chickens years ago.
Even among the rich pantheon of idiotic birds, Travolta stands resplendent in his vapid, peanut-brained stupidity. Travolta, so named due to his constant, shiny black plumed, puffed-up, strutting display of pointless machismo. Even though his mate sits asleep, in the dark at the other end of the garden, he struts and puffs his way through the day, sailing his riddiculous black feathered boat of ineffectual ritual up and down the garden from sun-up to sunset... in some bizzare perpetual poultry version of Saturday Night Fever.
So misguided and constant is his need to show off, he often mistakes ducks, chickens... and me, as a competitor for the sweet affections of his female.
We often talk of eating the poor idiot bird, but considering his preening, strutting obsession often prevents him from eating, we've decided hes not worth the effort.

...

Cleaner and washer-woman for the day...
A dog day afternoon for Belise the spaniel.
And for me, exercise and dozing in the sun, before an early evening walk to the waterfront to drink Cidre and play 500.