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!