I tried to get up off the bench but it came with me. Clyde slowly circled, not looking at me directly, but I could tell he was watching, studying, plotting. I had a moment to do some studying of my own. He was just an average size chicken but there was some unusual aspects to his physique. His shoulders were amplified for a poultry specimen, almost muscular as if he worked out on a regular basis. And his yellow claws had impressively sharp talons. I imagined him sharpening them with one of Clayton’s sanding stones. His gate was also unusual for a barnyard animal. He strutted slowly, purposefully. It lent him an intelligent air. He stopped behind me and moved something. I tried to turn around and see what he was doing but being stuck to the bench hindered my effort. Some sort of power tool whirred up to speed. It sounded like a band saw.
I felt a rope go around my ankles. I tried to slip out of the loop that had been made but it was too late. The rope was snugged up tight before I could react and I was halfway to being hog tied. I tried to stand up again and pry the bench off of my butt. The other end of the rope got tossed over a beam above. Then Clyde tied it to a come-along and started ratcheting. I fell backwards as the line tightened and I was strung upside down with a picnic bench hanging off of my backside. The belt saw screached like a siren as lightening lit up the windows and thunder pummeled the Town. I wished I was outside in the safety of the summer storm.