Why I was born

Before marrying my mother, the chief had a cook. A wise cook. A very wise cook indeed. At lunch or at dinner when the chief had roasted chicken or rabbit there was always missing a part of the chicken or a part of the rabbit. It could be a leg, a wing, and so on, and so forth. When the cook was called, he would always say the animal was a handicapped one, a deformed one or an incomplete one! But the chief knew the missing part was in the stomach of the cook!

Today I think these missing parts of the meals hurried the marriage of the chief with my mother. And in this way, by a wise cook, immediately dismissed after the wedding, I was born!