The next morning when I awoke I had a crick in the back of my neck. I groaned in pain and massaged my neck with the back of my wing; it was times like this that I desperately missed my comfortable perch back home in the Jones’ house. I decided to get some fresh air and flew out the door. I slowly flew by the pub on my way to the town square to pick up some of the gossip that the angry drunks would let out. As I peeked into the dirty bar I saw that a crowd had gathered around a man who was speaking animatedly. It was then with shock that I realized that it was none other than Mr. Jones! I strained my ears to listen and was yet again met with an astounding fact; he was telling lies of the battle at the farm that had occurred just a few months ago. He shouted tales of how the animals had become deranged, psychotic creatures that were bloodthirsty into the crowd. He said that their starvation had led them to the brink of insanity. He spun countless lies after those but I sat on the windowsill dumbstruck. That wasn’t what happened at all! The animals’ strategy was foolproof; they were organized and prepared but in no way were they lethal or crazed. If anything it was the farmers that had been cruel since they had in fact attacked first. But why would Mr. Jones lie? Was it just that losing had put a dent in his pride or was his true side was starting to come out because of troubling times that were upon him?