Dictators, Twins, Kitchen Mishaps, and Mystics

Seven rotten, fat little monsters tear though my backyard, burying garden paths with scratched-up dirt, destroying flowerbeds, and making ungodly noises in the wee hours of the morning. They often attempt coups on each other, and are the most greedy, vicious creatures ever created by evolution or a decidedly unfriendly God.

Their names are, chip, Twin, Nero, Napoleon, Caligula, Almost Soup, and Chris the Wonder Chicken. Yes, they're all chickens. Hens, rather. Nero, Napoleon and Caligula are Barred Rocks, and are bowling balls in feathers. They are enormous, fat, and mean. Chip and Twin are Americunas, lay blue eggs, and are the most feisty little snots in the flock. Almost Soup is the chicken I received first, a delayed birthday present, from my dear friend Laurel. Poor Soupy is likely to forever hate me because we had to give her brother, Da-Har away. (He was so named because when he first was learning to crow, thats the noise he made. Sort of like a hiccup.) She's probably a Sex-Link, a breed created so females would be all-black and males would look like Barred Rocks, black and white.

Then, there's Chris. Chris is all white, but lays blue eggs. We don't know WHAT she is and neither does she. She was the runt, and the other chicks blocked her from eating, so thus has moderate brain damage, because she was so malnourished as a chick. While the other chickens run, peck, and scratch, she prefers to quietly contemplate, and ponder her surroundings. She stares at grass, or a wild bird, as if to ask, "What is this wonderous item?" She likes riding on my shoulder, and will even wear a harness and leash and go out for walks. Walks usually end up being "carries", however, because she has no idea what asphalt is and refuses to walk on it.

Six monsters and a sweetheart. My original description wasn't completely accurate. Six of the strange little beasts we keep as pets and for eggs think they're velociraptors, leaping at leach other and fighting over grubs, scraps, and feed. One is apparently a reincarnated mystic, content to examine the world through the wondering eyes of a bird. Chris "talks", and knows what a phone is, as she'll happily cluck and purr into the microphone to say hello to a friend. She also enjoys regular baths, whereas the other chickens are content with dust-baths and the occasional spray from a hose. She only recently learned how to peck at food, and plays with her parrot toys. Sometimes, I think she has intelligence, and no instinct. She's a nerd chicken. Deep thoughts, no social ability. Perhaps I'm just reflecting my personality on her.

I think I need a dog.

It was Chris that I held and cried on when my boyfriend "went to the wacky shack", as my best friend Arri so kindly puts it. Poor Chris just curled up in my arms and clucked, occasionally pecking my ear, gently, either to say, "For the love of Christ, put me down, you deranged woman!" or to see if I was okay. I think I'll assume it was the second option. She's sweet, absolutely clueless, and willing to tolerate my treating her like a pet dog. She'll also be humanely dyed brown for this Fourth of July, except her head and tail, because I'm dressing her up like a bald eagle. Come see us.