Brrrr... splat! It was this sound which first alerted Priscilla to the plight of Sooky the Hen. Nesting on top of the corrugated iron awning overhanging their rumshop's main entrance, Sooky hadn't quite worked out the relationship between  gradients and gravity. Her eggs would roll from between her wings and topple over the edge, smashing to smithereens on the ground below.
That was two years ago. Since then, she has acquired a permanent cardboard home at the Dead End Pub, under the string of flashing coloured lights. According to Priscilla, Sooky lays especially well after a weekend of Zouk and Soca.