Staunton Farm stood in the heart of Wesleyville’s tranquil countryside, nestled within rolling hills and fields. Oscar Woodward resided here with vibrant feathers that shimmered in the morning sun. Oscar proudly woke the farm up every dawn when the first rays of pink and orange sunlight with his cock-a-doodle. His chest puffed out, and his head held high. He crowed and broke the stillness in the air. A new day welcomed the farm.