When I was 9 or 10, my grandmother gave us three dyed baby chicks for Easter, that she had bought at the dime store. We (my brother, sister, and I) named them Tom, Dick, and Harry. My father paid me something like 15 cents/week to clean out the large cardboard box they lived in.
As they got older, they lost the cute purple, green, and bright yellow feathers, and wound up mostly white. They also wound up all roosters. Not very big, but they were mean, especially Tom, who originally belonged to me--but I traded my brother for Dick, who was a little smaller and nicer.
All three of them would chase us and peck our toes, but Tom was the worst. One day, we went down to the river bank to swing on grapevines. The Ohio River was only a pasture away from our house. On the way back, I picked up a big stick to chase the chickens away, since I was barefoot, and expected trouble.
I climbed over the fence, and there was Tom, coming for me. I got scared, dropped my stick, jumped over Tom, and started running, with him right behind me, going peck-peck-peck-peck. He chased me around the house twice before my father chased him away from me.
Well, one day the chickens disappeared. They would often roam the cow pasture on their own, but always came back home. I went out looking for them, but couldn't find them.
When I was 18, my grandmother died. As usually happens when the family gathers, everyone was reminiscing, and the story of those chickens came up. I asked my mother if she had any idea what had happened to them. Well, they had become dinner for one of my father's farm hands. My parents told him he could have them if he could catch them, and catch them he did. No love lost on those roosters, but I was glad the mystery was finally resolved.
I've been having one of those semi-private ongoing conversations in another blogger's comment sections and just had to link this very talented (I think) recording made by another sometime Althouse commenter, Hector Owen: first link.
"On the other hand, there's Woody Allen's great fantasy of producing the author to refute some jackass's assertion about what is in a book:"
And then, on the other other hand, there's Rodney Dangerfield's great fantasy, in which the author's assertions about what is in a book are themselves refuted.
To paraphrase Dangerfield (and Socrates), the poet is the last person you want to talk to about his poetry.
Isn't it nice how some animals proudly display their anuses for the world to see?
Canine behaviorist Turid Rugaas says a dog turning his back on another dog is trying to lower the other's stress level. Locking eyes is aggressive; looking away is calming.
Very cute. However you have not really lived till you raise baby ducks with a cat. After a few spritzes with the water sprayer she learns that they are not supposed to to be played with or eaten.
These ducks are incubated in a second grade classroom, raised with us and will live on a pond at an inn in the Berkshires in Massachusetts.
I'm almost certain the guy on the video isn't Pakistan;
From part of Couric's interview with the mayor aired on the Monday, May 3 CBS Evening News:
KATIE COURIC: Law enforcement officials don't know who left the Nissan Pathfinder behind, but, at this point, the mayor believes the suspect acted alone.
MAYOR MICHAEL BLOOMBERG: If I had to guess -- 25 cents -- this would be exactly that, somebody-
COURIC TO BLOOMBERG: A home-grown?
BLOOMBERG: Home-grown, maybe a mentally deranged person or somebody with a political agenda that doesn't like the health care bill or something. It could be anything.
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27 comments:
Are you two staying at RH Hardin's?
I thought he only had Dobermans.
See? A dog is always a chick magnet.
I'm almost certain the guy on the video isn't Pakistan; see my guess here and let me know if you agree. #profiling!
In other news, if you watched Scott Pelley's 60 Minutes report about the All American Canal last night and bought what he was selling, see the link.
Isn't it nice how some animals proudly display their anuses for the world to see?
Some people do the same.
Metaphorically, of course.
"At the Chickens and Pug Café..."
Damn that Althouse.
Thought we were all pitbulls, poodles and golden retrievers here?
Except for El Pollo and that Afghan hound. lol
Where the hell is farmer John and his trusted sidekick, Toto?
When I was 9 or 10, my grandmother gave us three dyed baby chicks for Easter, that she had bought at the dime store. We (my brother, sister, and I) named them Tom, Dick, and Harry. My father paid me something like 15 cents/week to clean out the large cardboard box they lived in.
As they got older, they lost the cute purple, green, and bright yellow feathers, and wound up mostly white. They also wound up all roosters. Not very big, but they were mean, especially Tom, who originally belonged to me--but I traded my brother for Dick, who was a little smaller and nicer.
All three of them would chase us and peck our toes, but Tom was the worst. One day, we went down to the river bank to swing on grapevines. The Ohio River was only a pasture away from our house. On the way back, I picked up a big stick to chase the chickens away, since I was barefoot, and expected trouble.
I climbed over the fence, and there was Tom, coming for me. I got scared, dropped my stick, jumped over Tom, and started running, with him right behind me, going peck-peck-peck-peck. He chased me around the house twice before my father chased him away from me.
Well, one day the chickens disappeared. They would often roam the cow pasture on their own, but always came back home. I went out looking for them, but couldn't find them.
When I was 18, my grandmother died. As usually happens when the family gathers, everyone was reminiscing, and the story of those chickens came up. I asked my mother if she had any idea what had happened to them. Well, they had become dinner for one of my father's farm hands. My parents told him he could have them if he could catch them, and catch them he did. No love lost on those roosters, but I was glad the mystery was finally resolved.
Toy
I've been having one of those semi-private ongoing conversations in another blogger's comment sections and just had to link this very talented (I think) recording made by another sometime Althouse commenter, Hector Owen: first link.
The Sox bats came alive tonight..
They trounced the Angels 17 to 8.
Althouse wrote, a number of posts back:
"On the other hand, there's Woody Allen's great fantasy of producing the author to refute some jackass's assertion about what is in a book:"
And then, on the other other hand, there's Rodney Dangerfield's great fantasy, in which the author's assertions about what is in a book are themselves refuted.
To paraphrase Dangerfield (and Socrates), the poet is the last person you want to talk to about his poetry.
I am made about Pads.
I want to see Pads morbidly obese hog.
don't turn away.
Not turning away, per se, but family matters are going to keep me busy for the near future.
Pugs, Not Drugs!
Isn't it nice how some animals proudly display their anuses for the world to see?
Canine behaviorist Turid Rugaas says a dog turning his back on another dog is trying to lower the other's stress level. Locking eyes is aggressive; looking away is calming.
What a way to start my day -- a visual dose of dog-butt!
Titus: From your first comment, I thought you were raving about your iPad. And then I didn't.
Very cute. However you have not really lived till you raise baby ducks with a cat. After a few spritzes with the water sprayer she learns that they are not supposed to to be played with or eaten.
These ducks are incubated in a second grade classroom, raised with us and will live on a pond at an inn in the Berkshires in Massachusetts.
Warning: cuteness alert!
http://img85.imageshack.us/img85/4166/dscn5015.jpg
http://img408.imageshack.us/img408/3002/dscn5001g.jpg
I thought this was a depiction of the Harvard email scandal, with Martha Minow as the pug.
I'm almost certain the guy on the video isn't Pakistan;
From part of Couric's interview with the mayor aired on the Monday, May 3 CBS Evening News:
KATIE COURIC: Law enforcement officials don't know who left the Nissan Pathfinder behind, but, at this point, the mayor believes the suspect acted alone.
MAYOR MICHAEL BLOOMBERG: If I had to guess -- 25 cents -- this would be exactly that, somebody-
COURIC TO BLOOMBERG: A home-grown?
BLOOMBERG: Home-grown, maybe a mentally deranged person or somebody with a political agenda that doesn't like the health care bill or something. It could be anything.
Wrong!!!!
Let me guess: open thread?
Wrong end of the dog-though with Pugs it's hard to tell.
David, your second link doesn't load, even with jpg added
I think it's about time our gracious host gave up this 'café' business. Too cutesy.
The cafe' business is part of what balances this blog, offering respite and refreshment along with opportunity for expression and relaxation.
Connections, questions, stories, links, personal commentary, shared music and pictures, are all part of the fare available.
El Pollo Real's link to the song "Rhode Island Red" opened another door to shared excellence.
Thanks, MamaM, and everyone else who came over to hear the song about the chicken.
Reposted to fix the link.
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