I promised you chickens
Here they are, the Four Chooks of the Apocalypse. Just tiptoed out and snapped this. As you can see, their feathers have all grown back in and they’re looking fit and ready for Winter.
Angry chicken has issues. Woe be unto anything that perches near her of an evening. I let her have a go at me, so the other chickens can settle in for the night unmolested. I don’t mean she gives me a good pecking; I mean she takes a big beakful of the tender webbing of my thumb and worries it like a terrier. Angry, angry chicken.
Shy chicken is shy among chickens but is the most aggressive with intruders. She’ll lunge at any cat that comes near — head down, butt in the air, wing feathers all spread out. She can make herself look as big as a turkey. The inside cat is terrified of her.
Crazy chicken just plain ain’t all there. She never walks anywhere. She zooms. She is scream-propelled. NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH flap-flap-flap-flap.
Bossy chicken is the Mary Poppins of chickens — practically perfect in every way. Everybody is terrified of bossy chicken. All Hail Bossy Chicken.
Now, me hearties, I have just learned that I must upgrade my Photoshop by December 31 or I fall off the upgrade ladder (I’m using CS3 and they’re up to CS6 now; that’s as far as they’ll stretch it). Two hundred pounds is a lot of money for me to scare up at Christmas time. That means I must make many lovely, cruel, jug-eared Obama ‘shops in the New Year (perhaps I’ll finally nail his likeness in his second term).
But for now, I need to go away until it scabs over a little. And by “go away” I mean post about chickens and recipes and the stupid things English people say. I shan’t be reading news and political blogs for a while (I don’t know who I hate reading more after a stinging defeat — our side or theirs). Feel free to talk about anything you like in the comments, though.
Have an awesome weekend!