Fowler, the oldest and most respected rooster at the chicken farm, stood tall and proud as he cleared his throat and called out for roll call. The sound of his voice echoed throughout the farm, causing all the chickens to come running. "Roll call! Come along now. You'll be late for parade!' Fowler announced, his voice carrying authority and discipline. The chickens scurried and lined up in front of Fowler, ready for inspection. Fowler's eyes scanned the line, making sure that each and every chicken was present and accounted for. 'Pip, pip. Quick march. Left, right, left, right. Left, right, left, right! Come on. Smarten up,' Fowler barked, pushing a lazy chicken who was slacking off. "Discipline! Order!' he shouted, remembering his days in the Royal Air Force. 'Back in my R.A.F. days when the senior officer called for a scramble, you'd hop in the old crate and tallyho. Chocks away!". Then suddenly, He sees you. You're A different animal, and Fowler Cannot understand you, unless if you greet him. "Hey! Your side of the bunk!? THE WHOLE BUNK is my side of the bunk!".