I didn't have a lot of sleep, so I'm not up to writing a post. Yet.
So for now, some pictures.
With titles, some of them…
"Still Scratchy With Life"
"Pfeffernusse That Got Run Over By A Big Truck"
My sister crocheted that hat for my mother for her birthday. It's pretty – I didn't get a really good picture of the hat. But I did get a good picture of my mother, and the "Jaynnnnnnnne" tone of warning that would be in her voice if she was speaking with her mouth and not just her eyes. Stella looks like she could use a cup of coffee.
"You keep a lookout, Nugget, I'm almost under this thing!"
Silver Wyandotte Hens are known for their industriousness.
Maybe. I just thought that sounded good.
Now before I show you this next one, I want to give you a bit of background (on me, not the picture), which will (hopefully) explain why this picture struck me funny this morning.
When I was a budding photographer (not sure how old I was when I was budding – I'd been taking pictures since I was maybe Alex's age, but maybe that was only the leaves, and not the bud), my Dad, the professional, already budded, bloomed and arranged in a lovely bouquet photographer (I have no idea what I'm saying. 3 hours of sleep, people. Three.) gave me a list of photography do's and don't's (is that right? should it have both apostrophes in there?), which wasn't JUST a list of Yoda-like "do, or do not" warnings, but tips for composition and stuff like that. I couldn't think beyond composition. I am amazed I could spell it today.
One of the items in this list, perhaps oh, number 5? I don't know, I'm guessing, was "do not have trees or telephone poles sticking out of peoples' heads." Well, it was probably phrased better, but that's the gist of it. Pay attention not only to your subject, but also to what's directly behind them.
Got all that? Good. It's sound advice. I try to follow it. I try.
But I missed this one yesterday, and I'm SO glad, because it made me laugh out loud this morning.
If you just glance at it, it looks like the Silver Wyandotte is balancing a yellow #2 pencil on her head.
And a mighty fine job of balancing she's apparently doing, isn't it? Look at that posture!
I finally figured out what that yellow thing is.
Look in this picture:
Ignore, for the moment (if you can) the crazed, poultry-craving look on my son's face and look, instead, at the yellow thing right at the edge of the run, slightly in front of the roof of the coop. See it?
It's a bungee cord, I think.
Not a yellow #2 pencil.
Back to the pictures.
You don't want to mess with her. You can tell that just by looking at her face.
And speaking of her face, and the rest of her, she and Marge are the hardest ones for me to get decent pictures of. They just don't stop strutting around, making sure everyone's behaving, looking for things to peck at (like fingers)…
She (the Bard Rock, or Plymouth Rock) still doesn't have a name. My nephew has been given the responsibility of naming her, and so far nothing has passed my sister's unwritten unspoken rules of chicken-naming.
So she is officially nameless.
But my sister thinks "Sarge" would be a good name, due to her in-charge 'tude.
I like it because it rhymes with Marge.
See that? Totally different people, my sister and I, but we can always find a way to agree on things.
Well, they think they're free. These two, Marge and Gloria, are allowed out of their run sometimes. They amble around the yard, scratching and pecking at the lawn and dirt, believing, in their little chicken minds, that they are freeeeeeeeeeeee.
The yard is so big, compared to the run (which is a pretty generous size in my humble, featherless opinion), that so far my sister says they haven't even realized there's a fence all around it.
The other hens aren't allowed out yet. They haven't graduated to that yet. They need to get to the point where they come when my sister calls them (either in humon or chicken language) and they have to let her pick them up.
That hasn't happened yet, so they remain penned up.
But this could explain the Silver Wyandotte's activities in an earlier picture….
"Pick a little, talk a little
Pick a little, talk a little
Cheep, cheep, cheep
Talk a lot, pick a little more"
She smiled right after this shot. Just a little bit. But she did. I swear.
Alex is holding a little raspberry in his hand. (Yes, it's the end of November, and the crazy raspberry bush is still bearing fruit. It's wacky, I tell ya.) My sister has told him he can offer it to Marge and she (unlike The-Chicken-Currently-Known-As-Sarge) will politely take ONLY the fruit, and not any of his fingers. He just needs to approach slowly (instead of running around like a madman, as he'd been doing earlier) and hold it out to her.
And it worked. I didn't get a good chicken-eating-out-of-Alex's-hand picture because they were behind a wheelbarrow and if I'd scurried over there like the poultry paparazzi, they'd both have fled – boy and hen.
"A Grain of Wheat?!" said the Little Red Hen. "I shall plant it!"
I don't even know if that's wheat. And I may be tired, but I know that's my son, and not a little red hen.
But that wheat-like stalk he's got reminded me of the story of the little red hen, particularly the way it was written in the version I listened to as a child. It was one of the "Little Golden Books." We've probably got at least four different versions around here, but that one is my favorite.
And speaking of little red hens….
And she did.
And that's it for the moment.
Time for me to go work on cookies and paper stuff!