I looked up in disbelief. Coming down the mountain, flailing like a spastic chicken was, well, a spastic chicken. Rabid, perhaps. Most likely drunk. Not surprisingly, he was coming in hot, feathers flying, wings flapping, and totally misjudging … something. He hit the water in a high-speed, chaotic assault the likes the avian world has never seen. I’m not sure if the booze-fuelled crowd appreciated the decapitation or the dismemberment more, but the “chicken” was definitely a fan favourite. Read More