A Tail of Two Chickens

Once, not so long ago in a little seaside hamlet in Connecticut, there lived a lovely little hen named Meggy.  Meggy was quite agreeable, even lovable some might say, especially compared to her somewhat sinister sister, Violet. Although Violet could twinkle her toes as well as any hen out there, she was damned to a voice unheard of by most mortal ears.  Some think her to be deaf, because she never fails to exclaim loudly and often about the slightest little thing that appears out of order.  Bonnie, the quiet, yet prancey little princess loved all that she encountered and was brazenly favored by her mistress "the hen whisperer", Lyndee. All was well in the busy little garden where it was unlawful to have hens on one's own property, in that quiet little seaside town. So the days passed, with nice neighbors strolling by, seemingly enjoying the long and lovely street's new additions.

But of course, as with most tales, there loomed a dark and heavy cloud on the horizon, beyond the I-95 corridor, so far away that nobody knew it even existed....until that fateful day.

As Lyndee approached the Kingdom of Hen to coax the castle's royalty down the drawbridge so that they may wander near and far on all one third acre of land, a banshee appeared waving wildly and running with great, persistent strides. At first Lyndee thought it to be a neighbor friend out for exercise, but as the banshee approached she saw that it was not. No, this banshee spoke not like the others, and try as she may, Lyndee finally understood the enormity of the encounter...the kind and pretty banshee had lost her canine companion and worried that it may mow down the entire Kingdom of Hen!  While everyone ran about crazily, Maisie, "Watcher of All Things Plain and Simple" escaped confinement and joined in the fray. Just as the the marauding canines were being lured in with a fine specimen of parmigiano reggiano, Meggy, who had only completed a partial transformation into Chief Oliver, let out a yell that translated to, ""Halt all ye that trespass upon my fine Kingdom's grounds, I the metrosexual rooster command your attentions, appreciate my fine plumage, notice my wenches as they flock to my side. Be still and kneel before your Oli.". Somewhat unexpectedly it sounded a lot more like "Cock-a Doodle-Doo!"

what did you say?

kinda embarassing 

So that is the tale of two chickens. One that no living thing ever really knew, and the other who we are just now learning to embrace. The "Kingdom of Hen" has since been renamed "The Oliver Sultanate" per Chief Oliver's orders, although no one ever refers to it as such, and they all lived happily ever after.


Up next: Oli Gets His Jiggy On

Chief Oliver who?

As Christmas draws nearer, and the days grow ever shorter, I am finally ready to openly write about our, uh dare I say...r...r...roo...uh hum...rooster.  At first I thought our Meggy an extraordinary specimen of feathered finery, and perhaps a tad alpha, but hey somebody has to be top chicken. Then I noticed Meggy becoming irritated with Bonnie when she exerted her independence and fearless curiosity. I thought that a bit controlling of Meggy, I mean why would she care that Bonnie had a certain joie de vivre that allowed her to verily prance and dance about the yard, atop the henhouse, and through the gardens? Just because Bonnie's perfect execution of tour jetes and pleis could easily win her a position alongside Baryshinokov in a Russian Ballet is no reason for such huffiness.

Was Meggy feeling less girly, less chic, less flowery than the other hens? Was her farmer-like gait and super-big feet a cause for embarrasment? She does seem to strain in keeping her cackles and coos in pitch with the others. Then with little warning, her world of metrosexual manliness began to unfold, in the sprouting of a long and high curly tail, the compulsion to herd the other hens to safety, and the macho chase and retreat behavior while I walked away from the brood. No other hen was exhibiting these testosterone laden activities that lay claim to her shall we say unegginess. Yet the coup d'etat, the grand finale was yet to be displayed, I refer to the big one, the tell-all-no-holds-barred one, the no- going-back-yell-your-head-off-share-it-with-the-world-every-morning-of-every-day one, the inevitable, in your face, get the hell up COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO! (I know what you were thinking...I think she, him, uh, he, is still trying to figure that out.)

So it came time to help our Meggy out of the depths of gender ambiguity and call her, um him, by her, uh his rightful name, which our daughter rebestowed upon him...Oliver. My husband began calling him Chief straight away. I think he was privately celebrating another male's presence in an otherwise overburdened female household. I admit the scheduled explosions of not so pretty hormonal outbursts even wears me down. As one girlfriend exclaimed, and we shall not mention any names Amy! "Even I find it hard to live with myself during those times!"

So welcome, welcome O-li-ver, dahoo dores Christmas day. And may all the Who's down in Whoville, and hen's in the yard, stay safe and protected with Oli in charge.

Fahoo dores Christmas Day!

Click here to hear all the Whos down in Whoville

Chief Oliver in Charge

                          A fond farewell to Meggy and a bright welcome to our Oli in her stead!


Next up: Oh the weather outside's not frightful, oh why's it so delightful? Global warming takes its toll. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Super Chicken Throws Rhode Island Under the Bus

We were out cycling in the deep, dark forest of coastal Connecticut a few nights ago, when Moustache Mike breaks into the theme song to Super Chicken. I'd like to say the reason I don't remember this cartoon is because I'm too young. The fact is, I fit the time frame, I just don't remember! Mike and I are known to break into song on the trail, maybe more so at night to chase away the creepy woodsey wildlife (local partying teenagers and "man versus wilders" excluded). Upon returning home, my ever adventurous and conscientious husband offers, "You really should see an episode of Super Chicken and post it on your blog, just for fun." I concede, because that's what this blog is all about really...fun. So the following morning I settle in for a 6 minute youtube over fried eggs (but not my girls' ...yet).

Poor Rhode Island takes a chicken lickin':

In defense of our tiniest State of the Union, Providence in particular has come a loooong way. It is a jewel of a city! They have uncovered the pretty river that runs smack through it's center, and then the Italianos in power ordered gondolas from the motherland to ply the river banks. Stunning!  Brown University, RISD and Johnson and Wales adorn it's hillsides, and of course Federal Hill, ground zero for all that is Italian, flanks to the North. Btw, looking for fantastic food? Providence abounds with many fine eateries...my pick?  La Laiterie Bistro, farm to table yumminess in a pretty cheese shop. If you've just spent a to-die-for day of shopping the Providence Mall, head to Venda Ravioli,  but pack a cooler for fresh nibbles, and don't forget an espresso on the way out the door.

one of our mountain biking haunts at dusk

moustache and me

moustache and maisie getting snuggly in the back seat

Next up: Yep, Meggy's change through puberty ushers in "resticles",  not eggs.

Head down, butt up, on your mark...

Our friend Laura hopes to be a happy chicken owner next Spring...in the meantime she has helped us out with ours when in a pinch, like "We're not finishing our mountain bike ride until 7, then its a two hour drive back, we wanted to stop for dinner, can you make sure the girls are locked in their coop snug and safe?"  Of course her reply is always, "No problem!"

We were talking about the joys of raising hens, when she exclaimed, "There is nothing funnier than a chicken running!"  So true!

                                              We'll pretend Meggy is a hen in this video...

Next up: A slow-mo close-up of chickens on the run! Work it girls, and Meggy!

A Day Like No Other

The day started like any other, the chickens were running around the arbor vitae, the threat of rain was lifting, and I was getting married HUH? WHOA SCREEEEAAATCH, back that UP! My boyfriend, now fiancee, soon-to-be-husband and I had bought a fixer-way-upper about two years ago and were living happily ever after until the niggle, that little pesky itch, that voice in my head and finally my heart that determinedly proclaimed, ENOUGH! Or rather not ENOUGH! I wanted to be married to the man I loved. I was done with living this quasi-euro life of "we don't need to be married, we're better than that", I mean look at Johnny Depp, or Angelina Jolie, wait Brangelina tied the knot, didn't they? So it was our turn to show the world we really meant it. The date would be October first, where this story begins...

The tent people raised the white canvas and hung the paper lanterns earlier in the week, the flowers were picked up first thing in the morning, (oh btw check out our flowers website here > Hana's Flowers, to die for!) and the roasted pig and goat guy would arrive later that day. Chef Jim and his wife were on the way. Friends we arriving from far and wide. My fiancee was setting up the old porcelain bath tub outside to cool the white wine, beer and bubbly water. We would later place that super hefty thirst quencher into our renovated bathroom, but for now the only water that it would hold would be that of melted ice.

The hour arrived with barely controllable anticipation. We walked through the throng of seated guests and roaming chickens. Opera John (a burly mountain biking friend of ours) sang a beautiful rendition of "It Had to be You".  A love poem was read by another burly mountain biker, Lew (okay, most mountain bikers are burly, AND too stupid to stop, that's where our rides take a tragic turn...but that's another story).  My sister and her husband sang "You Are My Sunshine", then our friend, a minister, said the magical words and we were wed.  We danced under the tents until the wee hours and then plopped onto the sofas inside the house with a few remaining revelers. Well let's just say it, those that were too wasted, too tired, or lived too far away to make it home. It was the best party we ever threw!

Over the next few days we would hear all the little vignettes that we missed while cutting our cupcakes, or eating goat, or taking turns to dance with Dianne in her new leg cast that she decorated with pink bows. We heard that our usually skittish hens had decided to roost on the only empty chair during the ceremony, right next to a guest who has a long time fear of those-winged-creatures-who-shall-not-be-named, um, birds. So most anyone who meant anything to us, in a good way, celebrated our most special day ever, even our Maisie. I can tell you that it really happened, the tiny diamond band on my left hand ring finger professes it to be true.

Chicken Day Care in the background AKA the Starter Henhouse

and then we were married

Maisie trying to look all Iron Chef-like

Next up: Transvestite, transgender, whatever, she's a rooster!