The last thing this poor girl ever saw
Okay, not really. Just a photobomb. (Video at the link).
This is a European robin, Erithacus rubecula, like the one I posted about last week. If you read the text, they’re all awwwing and cooing and wishing they had something to feed the adorable robin.
I guarantee you, if we could speak robin, that little thug is tweeting something like, “hey! HEY! I didn’t authorize you to take pictures! Come over here and I’ll mash your beak in for you, you big pink pansy!”
What would it be like to be a belligerent, psychopathic asshole trapped in the body of a tiny adorable feathery tennis ball?
March 6, 2018 — 9:03 pm
Comments: 17
Robin on the chicken house
The robin here is a European robin (Erithacus rubecula). There are lots of other birds called robin redbreast in the world. Our own American one is a very different beastie, actually a breed of thrush with the charming designation Turdus migratorius.
Brits love they robins. It’s one of the few birds that stick around for the whole Winter. Hence they frequently feature on Christmas cards, which puzzled me mightily at first.
They’re cheeky little peckerheads, shaped like chickadees. Red breasted tennis balls. The classic picture is a robin on a spade handle, because they follow gardeners turning earth, looking for worms. I always know where Jack is in the garden, because our robing follows him around and yells at him.
We’re probably on our thirtieth robin by now, but we always have one and they all look the same to me when I chase them off the chickens’ food.
They are not shy. They’re fiercely territorial; they’ll fight to the death with other robins and take on much bigger birds. In fact, I strongly suspect if we could understand and speak robin, we’d find them the most horrible little assholes in the bird kingdom. But awwwwwww, aren’t they cute?
Uncle B took this picture in the garden today. It’s not his usual razor sharp focus because the little bastard was hopping around and wouldn’t pose.
Another day off work today. In fact, I doubt I’ll get in for the rest of the week. Tonight is the last night in the twenties, but it’s not much warmer tomorrow and the wind is going to double into the 40 mph range. Then Friday the wind dies down and heavy snow is forecast.
It’s the wind that’s the problem for us. It’s blowing hard from an unusual quarter, right across an enormous sheep field, picking up snow and landing it in our garden. Our central heating can’t handle it, so I’ve had to pile up in bed under the electric blanket.
I’m trying real hard to look sad about that..
February 28, 2018 — 8:27 pm
Comments: 15
It sounds worse than it is
At last, I got my caput mortuum! I didn’t order it specifically, it was part of a package of pigments. Cheapest way I could get my hands on a sample of all the colors I wanted.
But I have found it! The holy grail! The pigment that best matches color of a chicken’s comb with the sun shining through it! It is cadmium vermilion and I am inexpressibly chuffed.
It looks brighter when you mix it up.
Have a good weekend, everyone, and may all your chickens have bright and shiny combs.
February 9, 2018 — 10:32 pm
Comments: 11
Poor old girl
Uncle B called me at work this morning and said, “was there a reason you left Mapp Chicken running loose?”
Ah, no. Before I left, I opened the henhouse door, saw “some chickens” and assumed it was all of them. Poor old Mapp. He said she looked very grateful to scoot into the henhouse with the others. It was bitterly cold this morning and she’s the old girl.
Thus began a silly day. I lost our tax paperwork. I found it again (after one of those painful ‘tearing the place apart’ sessions). I got an email from a long-lost first cousin.
I think I’ll have a gin, a long nap and a do-over tomorrow.
November 30, 2017 — 10:40 pm
Comments: 10
The varieties of mille fleur
Bloody hell, is she still on about this?
More feathers. The red ones are Rosie (“Rosie is red…”) and the paler ones are Ginny. The proportion of red, black and white determines the overall ‘tone’ of a mille fleur.
Lucia was even whiter than Ginny (when she was a chick, she was practically all white). I do have Lucia feathers. A whole bag of them. But as Lucia was such an awesome chicken, I believe her feathers must have powerful juju.
I’m probably kidding.
Why yes, of course you can have a large color photograph of a bunch of chicken feathers.
October 19, 2017 — 8:57 pm
Comments: 12
Mille fleur is *hard*
Mille fleur. ‘Thousand flowers’. I’ve had three chooks of this variety, and lovely fat hens they’ve all been. But I’ve dreaded trying to paint them.
Working hard on my chicken portfolio just now, you see.
They aren’t just speckledy. When you see an individual feather — particularly a long feather — there’s at least something of a pattern. It’s a brown feather with a black stripe before a white tip. But jumbled onto a chicken…it’s hard.
Let’s see that in color, with this lovely picture of Lucia the Mille Fleur and Mapp the Ginger having a dust bath in the onion bed.
October 18, 2017 — 9:34 pm
Comments: 4
Guess what?
Deborah HH asked in the thread below whether I used my own chickens in the paintings I recently showed in town. I did indeed and, I must say, I was surprised and pleased at how well received they were.
I am become S. Weasel, Famous Painter of Chickens.
So it shames me to admit I cannot unravel the terrible central mystery of the chicken physique: how the HELL do all those poofy tailfeathers come out of that little dealie on the ass end of a chook?
I leave you to ponder. Have a good weekend!
September 1, 2017 — 10:14 pm
Comments: 21
Chook update
No, no…these are not new baby chooks. This is the trio from last year, who are now all growed up and doing well. It occurred to me I hadn’t given you an update in a while.
The two millies are fat and happy and each lay an egg every day like little champs. The lavender has gone broody and sits on the nest sulking.
These are by far the most neurotic chickens I’ve had. They haven’t warmed to me at all. Usually, a chicken — by virtue of natural gluttony — will ultimately come to love you, because you represent FOOD. These girls? Scream and run away from corn if you throw it at them.
Run away. From corn.
They’re greedy enough. They come back and eat it eventually. They’re just super, super spooky and neurotic.
And old Mapp is doing fine. She’s seven this year, which is a damn good run for a bantam. And, yes, she’s gone broody this year as she does every year. Poop out three eggs and then go broody. Useless old bird. She and Colette sit on the nest together and scream at the other chickens.
I’ve made her a promise: if she makes it through another Winter, I’ll give her some fertile eggs to sit on. Motherhood would serve her right.
Right! Tomorrow, 6WBT, Dead Pool Round 99! Be here or I’ll give you some fertile eggs to sit on.
August 10, 2017 — 10:26 pm
Comments: 3
Mad as a wet owl
Is that a saying? It should be a saying. Another picture from Saturday’s owl deluge.
In the previous thread, Ric Fan says: “I love the Old English name for August, ‘Weodmonað’ – Bede says it means ‘the month of weeds, because they are very plentiful then’!”
I know this! I’m currently working my way through a History of England podcast (from the departure of the Romans to…not sure. Haven’t finished yet). Most entertaining. He listed the months of the year in the old Anglo Saxon (per the venerable Bede), and I thought it was so cool I wrote it down. Rough notes, I’m sorry.
I’m indebted to Ric Fan for the ð – I used the audio ‘th’. Other Anglo Saxon spelling howlers, undoubtedly.
Here we go!
Dec 25th is Modrenecht: “the night of the mothers”. Not sure what that means or if it’s a pagan festival that predates Christmas.
Month 12, 1 Juil: (Jule, Yule). Last month of the old, first month of the new.
Month 2 Salmanac: the month of cakes. Or mud. They made buns.
Month 3 Arethae. Should that be Areðae or something? No further information.
Month 4 Aeostre. Easter you should recognize.
Month 5 Trimicle. Three milks. Cows are milked three times a day.
Month 6 and month 7 Lethe. Something about the moon. He says we know no more.
Month 8 Weodmonað. The month of weeds, as Ric Fan said.
Month 9 Halechmonað. Spelling unk. The month of sacrifice, festivals, harvest.
Month 10 Wintirfirað. First full moon of Winter.
Month 11 Blodmonoð. Blood month. The time when it makes more sense to slaughter livestock than feed it through the Winter. Much feasting.
I’m getting quite addicted to using podcasts to get me through dull, brainless jobs. This one is recommended, if you have any interest in Jolly Olde.
August 1, 2017 — 10:43 pm
Comments: 24
A conversation with Rudyard Kipling’s chikkens
The whole flock right there. Nothing much to say for themselves, actually. I don’t know if they kept chickens in Kipling’s day, but the mill was already there — meaning grain — so probably.
I can identify a Buff Orpington and a Light Sussex. The rest are just…you know…chickens.
We did a field trip to Bateman’s (Kipling’s place) last Friday on the idea that when the weather is nice, we’ll pack sammiches and go. It’s how you have to approach an English Summer.
It has been thoroughly miserable ever since. Damp, overcast and nighttime temps in the fifties. We have the heat on tonight. IN JULY.
I sometimes wonder how much more traction they might have gotten in Britain if they stuck with their original idea and threatened us with global cooling instead.
July 24, 2017 — 9:32 pm
Comments: 13