I once had a chicken alight upon my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circumstance that I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn.
~Henry David Thoreau...sparrow replaced by chicken
~Henry David Thoreau...sparrow replaced by chicken
It all started with a chicken named Cinderelle.
I'm going to take you on a journey. Travel back with me to a time of bell bottoms, rainbows and chicken chasing. You hit the brakes on that one didn't you? The year is 1980 and it's the middle of summer. Rodeos all around are running. This year however is a little more important. It's the Miss Slick Chick Contest and your little sister is in the padgent. It's now intermission of the Snake River Stampede Rodeo. They are calling out the names of the runner ups for Miss Slick Chick.....wait...oh wow, your sister got third runner up. Oh well, you're 10 years old and your little sister is a pain anyway. You have more important things to think about. Like how you are going to nab yourself a chicken when they let loose one thousand chickens into the rodeo arena. You will be competing with other kids all under the age of 12. You defientely made sure you had your best "I'm going to mow you over" tennis shoes on. Oh my gosh, I didn't know chickens could run that fast and wow, did you know they could turn such tight corners? THERE SHE IS! The most beautiful black chicken I've ever seen. Her feathers were so shiny you almost needed sunglasses to look at her. YES, YOU CAUGHT HER! Granted that old guy ( you know like 35) helped me grab her. Ha ha. I got me a chicken. The little sister might have got a little crown to go on her head, but I still got me a chicken.
I remember that like it was yesterday. How I loved that bird. Her name was Cinderelle and she was spoiled. I would carry her around everywhere and she would wrap her feet around my finger like a baby would with their hand. She walked with me to the bus stop every morning and was waiting at that same bus stop when I got home. Together, Cinderelle and I would walk home. She was the greatest. We would ride horses together and sometimes I would "sneak" her into my bedroom where she would quickly fall asleep against my pillow. She was my cheerleader when my sister and I had a mean game of Tether Ball going on. She was the one I secretly cried to; when no one else could understand why I was so upset that my guppie had jumped out of the fish bowl, and died on my bedroom floor. She didn't care if I had morning breath or if my hair wasn't brushed. She just loved me no matter what. We were going to be together forever. Oh the sense of purpose and secret Divine notion I had thinking she was going to live forever, and be my matron of honor at my wedding someday. It was not to be though. Just two short years later, I would get off that bus to find that Cinderelle was not waiting for me. I ran inside to see my mom and my grandparents sitting solemnly at the kitchen table. "Honey" my mom said. "We have some bad news. The neighbor's dog got out and attacked Cinderelle. She didn't make it". I can remember my grandma using her best rosebud embroidered pillowcase as a shroud for my fallen friend. They spared me the memory, by not allowing me to see her in her then "current state". We buried her next to the pasture fence where she would sit, and do reconinsence for me, when my sister and I ambushed the mean neighbor boy with a "tug of twine" activated gopher trap on the foot.
That was 27 years ago and it still pains me to think about it. How often does something come in our lives that touch us that deeply? Twenty seven years and I finally was able to get chickens again. Some people think of chicken owners as "hicks" or "country folk". I see us as human beings that just happen to know a little more than most. I can't put my finger on the exact moment when a person realizes that they absolutely love chickens. It's just there and no one understands a chicken person more than another chicken person. There's no explanation needed or required. It's just easy.....YOU LOVE CHICKENS. You appreciate the milestones that other "chicken people" attain. You jump for joy when somewhen says "MY BOY FINALLY CROWED!" It's that simple. You cry when one has to go through a death. You empathize as someone struggles to fight for a small fluffy life. You brand yourself permantely blue to protect that which you have been entrusted with. It's not even a lifestyle.....it just is. Thanks for making our family part of yours. Julie (AKA 2mnypets)
I remember that like it was yesterday. How I loved that bird. Her name was Cinderelle and she was spoiled. I would carry her around everywhere and she would wrap her feet around my finger like a baby would with their hand. She walked with me to the bus stop every morning and was waiting at that same bus stop when I got home. Together, Cinderelle and I would walk home. She was the greatest. We would ride horses together and sometimes I would "sneak" her into my bedroom where she would quickly fall asleep against my pillow. She was my cheerleader when my sister and I had a mean game of Tether Ball going on. She was the one I secretly cried to; when no one else could understand why I was so upset that my guppie had jumped out of the fish bowl, and died on my bedroom floor. She didn't care if I had morning breath or if my hair wasn't brushed. She just loved me no matter what. We were going to be together forever. Oh the sense of purpose and secret Divine notion I had thinking she was going to live forever, and be my matron of honor at my wedding someday. It was not to be though. Just two short years later, I would get off that bus to find that Cinderelle was not waiting for me. I ran inside to see my mom and my grandparents sitting solemnly at the kitchen table. "Honey" my mom said. "We have some bad news. The neighbor's dog got out and attacked Cinderelle. She didn't make it". I can remember my grandma using her best rosebud embroidered pillowcase as a shroud for my fallen friend. They spared me the memory, by not allowing me to see her in her then "current state". We buried her next to the pasture fence where she would sit, and do reconinsence for me, when my sister and I ambushed the mean neighbor boy with a "tug of twine" activated gopher trap on the foot.
That was 27 years ago and it still pains me to think about it. How often does something come in our lives that touch us that deeply? Twenty seven years and I finally was able to get chickens again. Some people think of chicken owners as "hicks" or "country folk". I see us as human beings that just happen to know a little more than most. I can't put my finger on the exact moment when a person realizes that they absolutely love chickens. It's just there and no one understands a chicken person more than another chicken person. There's no explanation needed or required. It's just easy.....YOU LOVE CHICKENS. You appreciate the milestones that other "chicken people" attain. You jump for joy when somewhen says "MY BOY FINALLY CROWED!" It's that simple. You cry when one has to go through a death. You empathize as someone struggles to fight for a small fluffy life. You brand yourself permantely blue to protect that which you have been entrusted with. It's not even a lifestyle.....it just is. Thanks for making our family part of yours. Julie (AKA 2mnypets)
I leave you with this......ENJOY!
The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not smashing it.
The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not smashing it.
We can see a thousand miracles around us every day. What is more supernatural than an egg yolk turning into a chicken?
The difference between "involvement" and "committment" is like an eggs & ham breakfast. The chicken was "involved" - the pig was "committed".
The difference between "involvement" and "committment" is like an eggs & ham breakfast. The chicken was "involved" - the pig was "committed".
