The Next Day...
Chewie lowered the Falcon's ramp, fully alert. Bowcaster at the ready, he warily exited the ship. The moment his feet touched dirt, he hit the ground, ready for an attack. Nothing happened. Rising to his feet, he cautiously advanced. After several tense minutes, he relaxed. The coast was clear. There was no sign of anything in the area. Not so much as a distant cry could be heard from the Porgs, or any other native of the Island. Chewie let out a sign of relief. It appeared that the Porg's little quest for vengeance was over. Feeling better, he swung his Bowcaster over his shoulder and turned back towards the Falcon.
He stopped dead in his tracks. The legendary Millennium Falcon, the fastest ship in the Galaxy, hero of the Galactic Rebellion, was covered in Porg shit. The entire hull was dotted with small but especially nasty looking droppings, making it look as if the Falcon was suffering from a severe case of blue-green chickenpox. Only then did Chewie notice the ominous odor emanating from his beloved ship. It smelled of fish, oil, and other things that Chewie did not want to think about.
Managing to slightly recover, Chewie scanned the hull. It was clear that cleaning the Falcon would take no less than a full day. The thought sunk in. An entire day of scrubbing Porg poop. On a whim, Chewie did a quick 360, just on the off chance that there was something nearby that he could brutally murder with his bare hands. Nothing. With a sign of resignation, he trudged back up the ramp to gather supplies. It was going to be a long day.
The sun was just beginning to set when Chewie scrapped the last piece of excrement from the hull. He straightened his back, groaning as the sore vertebra cracked. From the top of the Falcon, Chewie stared across the ocean, which was tinged with just the slightest hint of gold from the setting sun. A profound sense of satisfaction filled him. He had shown strength and resolve in the face of great adversity. He had stepped up to the challenge and prevailed. The Falcon was whole again; and, he had to admit, it had been ages since she looked this good. Why, she looked thirty years younger at least. Chewie's chest puffed out with pride. It occurred to him that the best days of one's life were not the ones where everything just fell into your lap, no, the best days were those that pushed you, challenged you, and forced you to overcome adversity. Well, he had done so. He came, he saw, and he con... And then something wet and slimy landed on top of his head with a splat.
A sickeningly familiar odor filled his nostrils. Chewbacca froze, his brain refusing to accept the reality of what had just happened. Forcing himself to look up, he saw a Porg flying above him, screeching what could only be described as a victory call. From the nearby rocks, a chorus of voices responded in approval.
Grabbing a scrub brush, the furious Wookiee drew his arm back, preparing to throw it at the offending Porg who dared to poop on his head. However, in his wrath, Chewie forgot that the hull of the Falcon had not completely dried yet. As he stepped into his swing, his foot landed on an area that was still slightly wet. His foot went up, his body came down, and then he was rolling, rolling, rolling off the side of the ship, and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
Face down in the grass, Chewie spent the next ten minutes calling the Porg species every vile name he could think of. And as a smuggler, he knew quite a lot.