Tank

From Oreo to Tank: our feathered friend's fowl identity crisis

We named "her" Oreo, and then nature laughed and handed us Tank. Fitting, honestly. He walks like a bulldozer with feathers and has a talent for wrecking anything that dares sit still. 🫣 The morning routine is now a delicate dance: I let him roam beside me, and he pretends I'm in charge. Cute. He's not my boss, but he's definitely got me trained. There's a special kind of chaos that comes from a chicken who thinks he's a tiny dinosaur with a mission. And honestly? I respect it. For anyone who's ever loved a bird with a bad attitude, this is your sign. Or maybe just a warning. Either way, it's cluck-tastic.