Sunday, October 31, 2010

Ode to a Barred Rock

None were as deft at unearthing crawlies from newly upturned wood, none as swift to heed the call of the arrival of a new epicurean experiment, waddling at break-neck speed from across the avian way. The whittled perch that always held three now becries an untenanted place next to the window frame where you roosted night after night, the singular recipient of feather strokes as the evening count commenced. Two-by-two is lesser one, save the fond memory that takes your place.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Why is it that Chicken Little and her white kin are the most photographable of the flock? While the Blue Lace Red Wyandottes and Rhode Island Reds are the most "photogenic", none will hold still enough for a portrait it seems.

This rainy windy morn holds no interest for the ladies outside of their warm, dryish coop. Nothing a little cantaloupe and freshly cooked oat groats can't fix. I don't understand why my teen thinks the girls are spoiled. And when I tell my girlfriend of their frequent late summer treats of blueberries (OK OK only when there are reasonably priced berries at Costco will they become handfuls of chicken delight) you should see the looks I get! The enthusiasm with which the girls scuttle, waddle, and take short break-neck flight to sink their beaks into these juicy delicacies is worth more than the price of the berries afterall.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

The Sky is Falling The Sky is Falling

Arrived home from work to threatening storm clouds and a new weather vane. If any possibility exists of distinguishing between the four white hens, I'd name her Chicken Little.