I bagged a bag.
I bagged it from the counter. In the kitchen.
The bag was full of chicken.
MY chicken. For me.
Sailor wanted to share. Share MY chicken.
So I ate it. Fast.
I ate all the chicken.
I ate all the bag.
Then I got a new bag of chicken. I gave Sailor a package of necks.
Mom found me. She found Sailor. She told us to Drop It and Leave It. Sailor Dropped It and Left It. I spun left and dodged. Mom told me again. I Dropped It and Left It. MY chicken!
But that's not all.
Mom looked for the first bag. She looked high. She looked low. Sailor said that this happened with a turkey when he was young. She didn't find the bag. Or the turkey.
So she made me drink water that turned to foam. She made me do this two times.
Then Mom put a T-shirt on my ruff to keep it not foamy. She put a towel on the floor.
Then I felt sick. I drooled. I horked. I horked again.
I horked up foam and slime and two chicken thighs. I felt so sick I didn't even feel like eating the thighs again.
Mom took off my T-shirt and we went in the car to see Dr. Dane. He listened to my heart and poked my tummy and laid me down me on a table. He took pictures. He talked to Mom.
Then Mom left. I was feeling great until Dr. Dane poked me with a bee sting.
Then I felt sick again. Really, really sick. I horked and horked. And horked again. And horked some more. All my chicken thighs!
And I got drunk. And slept. And then Mom came and took me home.
She says she hopes the plastic bag will pass. So do I.
But guess what the worst thing was? I didn't get breakfast!