She Rules the Roost

Every flock has one... The one who rules the roost... The one at the top of the pecking order...

Mine is named Eleanor. 

She not mean... she's just the boss. And, she always has an expression of annoyance. If she could talk, I think she'd say, "What? I gave you a lovely light tan egg. What else do you want? I have pecking to do. Why do you insist on hanging around?"

We always have to have at least one white chicken.  When they're in the woods scratching around or resting, we can always find them because the white one never blends in.

Original Palette Knife Oil Painting on 7"x 9" Wrapped Canvas.

Click She Rules the Roost if you'd like to purchase this little painting.

Excuses... Denials... Apologies... and a Rooster

In March Dominique had been broody, so I put 6 day-old chicks under her.

She's such a good mama hen, but for various reasons, only one of this bunch survived.  It was an odd little chick... kind of a patchwork of different colors... always hung out on the edges of the bunch... the other hens never seemed to like her very much. I'd feel sorry for her and give her some handfuls of treats.

When it was time to give her a name, my friend Wendy said, "How about Pieceful Thoughts!" Sure! She was kind of a pieced-together looking thing... She was skiddish and probably needed some peaceful thoughts.

Pieceful Thoughts became P.T... which sounded like Petey... And soon became my Sweetie Petey. I thought giving her such a calming name would help her little feelings...

Not mentioned yet, was this little chicken's attitude as she got older. My husband never called her Sweetie Petey, nor did he call her P.T., nor did he call her Pieceful Thoughts.  He called her Aggravating Chicken.  Every evening with a big sigh....  "Where's Aggravating Chicken?"  or "Let's try to get Aggravating Chicken inside first then the rest will come on in by themselves."

EXCUSES:

"Poor thing," I'd say... 

"She's afraid of going in the coop! The hens aren't nice to her," I'd say... 

"She just needs to learn the routine," I'd say while chasing her through the woods trying to herd her back to toward the open door of the coop... 

"She wants to be on top of the coop roof," I'd say as I open the top door for her to go inside a different way than the rest...

DENIALS:

"Sweetie Petey's starting to stand up tall. Maybe she's getting more confidence,"  I'd say trying to find something nice to say about the Aggravating Chicken...

"Her feathers are starting to get really really pretty. Good for her," I'd say wondering when she'd finally begin to lay eggs.

APOLOGIES:

Sorry to say that Pieceful Thoughts aka P.T. aka Sweetie Petey aka (and mostly called) Aggravating Chicken ended up getting scooped up in a catfish net and tossed in the coop more than a time or two by her patience-wearing-thin people.

Sorry to say that delight in her was becoming less and less frequent.

Wendy, I'm so sorry the sweet name didn't stick.

OHHHHH...

The other day my daughter-in-law came over (Did I mention that my grandkids - and their parents - from North Carolina just moved back to NWArkansas?!). She looked out the window at the chickens and said, "You have a rooster now?"

Wait... 

What? 

Oh... dang it... of course... I do... [big sigh heaved...]

It all makes sense now.

I have a rooster.

Meet Pete. 

He's getting long green tail feathers.  He's growing pretty yellow mane feathers.  He's got orange wing feathers. He struts around the edges of the hen's circle.  He likes to fly up to the top of the coop. and enter through the "back door" for the night.  He's a little wary of me (could be due to being scooped up in a catfish net or my chasing him through the woods with a stick and threatening to just leave him out for the night).

He's going to be beautiful.

I love him.

With a Chick Chick Here and a Chick Chick There...

This is my lovely hen, Dominique.  When she was just a chick herself, my dad said, "Oh, that one's a "Dominicker." Her breed is usually called Barred Rock now, but I think Dominicker suits her.  

Dominique is a good mama.  She's raised three broods of chicks for us. Here's how it works: I know she's broody and wanting babies when she refuses to leave the nesting box for days.  I (along with my granddaughters) go to the store and pick out half a dozen chicks of different breeds. That evening after dark, I slip the babies under her one at a time.  The next morning she's clucking with protective pride at her new family.

Arkansas has a law, a real honest-to-goodness law, that says you have to buy chicks six or more at a time... not five... not three... not one... Six.

AR Code § 5-62-121 (2012)  (a) It is unlawful for any person, firm, or corporation to sell or offer for sale, barter, or give away living baby chicks, rabbits, or ducklings under two (2) months of age in any quantity less than six (6).

So... hmmm.... If I only had to get six, why are there seven in the painting? My husband asked a similar question... "Why are there seven chicks here?" Really? Seven? Are you sure? Well, how about that! Hmmm... You know it's hard to put a tiny chick back once it's already in your hand and peeping... Seven is about six anyway, right?

Fun fact - You can tell what color eggs a chick will lay by looking at the color of its feet!

This painting was my response to my weekly-ish art challenge.  The challenge was "Our Feathered Friends."

Original Oil Painting on 9"x 12" Wrapped Canvas
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My Rooster... Bob

 Let me introduce you to Bob... my rooster.

No. We never (thought we) wanted a rooster, yet I'm finally admitting that a rooster is what we have. 

I've run out of denials: That chick, Barbie, is bigger than the others... Barbie's tail feathers are getting long... Barb stands up tall all the time... Her neck feathers are full and bright... She kind of struts around like she's the boss... 

Then one night around 2:30, I thought some terrible crime was taking place in the back yard.  I sat up and whispered, "Did you hear that? It sounded like someone being strangled! There it is again!" Ron rolled over and said, "I think it's just Bob." 

Yep. Barb, was Bob.  

He crows... all... night... long...

He crows... all... the... time... 

Errrr.... er-er.... er-errrrrrrrrrr...

Bob is gorgeous... and he knows it.  He loves (in every sense of the word) the ladies.  He has an attitude of superiority.  And, he cracks us up. We did not intend to, but we love him.

We have a rooster.

My art challenge for the week was "Coat of Many Colors." (If you haven't listened to Dolly Parton's song by that title in a few years, click HERE to be reminded of it.) Bob certainly does wear a coat of many colors.

Original Oil Painting on 12"x 16" Wrapped Canvas

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Mama Hen

 I love how this mama hen puts her wing over her baby when it's cold.

SSSssssssurprise in the Nesssssting Box

Serendipity, our little piece of the world is nearly always a peaceful and beautiful place to be.

We do our best to live at peace with our "neighbors."

But sometimes.... there's a conflict.

You might want to read about an indent with a raccoon and possum. Click HERE for that story and then HERE for the follow up to that one.

A couple of days ago we had an... an incident.

I had called my sister to see if she'd want to go blueberry picking that evening.  It was the first day of the season, and we wanted to be there for the first picking time! I was chatting and also multitasking by taking care of some outside jobs at the same time.   I had the phone in my pocket (Yes, the pocket of my pajama pants. Yes, it was the middle of the day.  Yes, when I saw the picture later, I wished I'd decided to wear real clothes that day!) and earbuds in my ears.  It was a beautiful spring day with birds singing, blue skies, and a light breeze. I checked the plants growing in pots on the deck then tossed some birdseed and dried worms to the hens in the backyard.

If you look through the slats of the deck rail, you'll see those seven happy hens. 
Hmmm... but I thought I had a dozen hens... 
Ugh... 
I have five, yes FIVE, broody hens!  
They just want to sit there in their hot, dark nesting boxes all day long, day after day.  I don't have a rooster, so none of the eggs are fertilized.  (Ron takes a deep, patient breath and sighs as he reminds me that 12 is our top limit and that no, we do not need babies this spring.)  So, several times a day, I go out, and lift the broody girls off their nests, give them a snack, and tell them to go play.

So, still talking to my sister, I headed up to the coops.

First stop, the Sister House.  I slid my hand under Dolly and plopped her out onto the ground. The two little bantam (unless your redneck and call them banty, like I do) hens were cozy in the other box.  I lifted out Lena and talked to her a bit. She's so sweet.  Then grabbed Frinkles in a way she couldn't peck me.  She's feisty.

Next I moved on to the Cousin House where good ole' Fancy was snuggled in. She acted offended to have been disturbed, but out she went.  

I tossed them some seeds.  While they were clucking around, I moved on to the Friend House to rouse Dominique…
Without a thought I opened the lid to the last nesting box and...

This is your warning...
If you don't want to ssssssee what wasssssss in the box..
Don't ssssscroll any further down.

Holy Moly!! 
Cowabunga!!!  
Jeeze Louise!!! 
Huge snake!!!
Slam that lid down!! 
Start running!!!
Kick in to get-r-done mode!

I’m not that good at knowing snake types past rattle snakes and copperheads so I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure it was snake of mixed heritage... part black mamba, part cobra, part boa constrictor, part python, and part anaconda!  Equal parts of each!

Still on the phone and mid sentence...
"Around 5:30 I'll just stop by -- Eeeek!!!!  Oh, my goodness!  It's really big!  It's in the nest!  Oh, my goodness!  I opened the box to put my hand in. It was right there!! It's huge!  I've got to get it!!" 

Ron, at the kitchen table working where he's been since mid-March, had on his headset and was calmly on a corporate conference call.  

I burst through the back door, "Snake!  Are you in a meeting!? There's a snake!  It's really big! It's huge!  It's in the chicken nest! I have to get it!"

I ran to the garage to get the limb loppers. (No idea why that thought came to me, but it turned out to be a good one.)  I grabbed the loppers, ran back into the kitchen.  "It's huge!  I need gloves." (I started pulling on my little cotton gardening gloves... yeah... like they'd protect me from the four-inch fangs it probably had...) "It's so big!  Really!  If I've ever stretched it about how big a snake is, this time I'm not!" 

Ron... trying to nonchalantly remove himself from his meeting.... holding up a finger to wait just a minute...
A voice... My sister's... still listening to all this.  
"There's a snake!  I have to go!"

"Please still be there!!!” 
As we headed out to the yard, I grabbed a grill cleaner tool that was there on the rail. (It's kind of a bat like a club with a pointy thing on the end. Seemed like a good snake weapon.)

Eeeekkk!!!
Get ready...
Get set...
I opened the lid! 
He raised his head.
Ron put the loppers around his neck and pulled him out...
Whoa!!!!!
Oh, my goodness!
Wow!

"Wait!  hold him there!  I need a picture!  Don't let go! Hold him!!"  
Run back to the house... 
Get the phone...
Run back... 
Have a photo session...

Well... if you're wondering... 
No. It did not go well for the snake.

That dad gummed snake ate the golf ball and the porcelain egg that was in the nest!  (Chicken coops always have a fake egg or two in the box where they're supposed to lay eggs. A golf ball is just a cheaper version of the fake egg... assuming your chickens aren't smart enough to realize they're round instead of oblong.) 

He had two bulges in his stomach. 

"He ate my fake eggs! I want them back!"

Ron, who’s lived with me 35 years, was shaking his head thinking are you kidding me… no you’re not kidding… He begged me to not be serious, to just  buy new ones.  

"Nope! I’m getting those!"  

Ron groaned... just the  thought of me wanting to cut up the dead snake.

"Nope! I don't need to. I’m going to squeeze them right out the same hole that used to be his head!  

And… I did! 

HA!!

Sheesh!

Although the whole thing beginning to end was probably 10 minutes, it felt like an entire movie!  

Whew!  

Adrenaline rush for sure!

Then… I picked up my sister and we went berry picking! 

Rey K. Javic (a.k.a. An Icelandic Rooster)

Isn't he absolutely fabulous!

And, doesn't he look like he knows it!

I so want to make him be a book character so that he can talk to us! 

We don't have a book, but I bet we can make him a character...

Let's see... 

I'll name him Rey... short for  Rey K. Javic.  He'd have gone out just before the sun had shown itself.  I'll put him at the top of the haystack to look around (perhaps a bit haughtily)... to survey his domain.  He'd grin for sure... (Wait... can chickens grin?) His grin would be kind of pompous, knowing he'd be the one to break the morning silence with his crow.  I think he'd love that.  First I'll have him strike a pose because he is quite handsome. He'll bask in the glory of his own handsome-ness for just a moment... or two... a moment too long... because a someone else will be up early...It will be a weasel... no two... wait... it will be a whole "passel of weasels!"This might not end up being a good morning for Rey...

I'm not much of a made-up story writer, but I see a possibility here!  Hmmm... but only if the "passel of weasels" get some really good lines of their own.  Of course, someone will need to learn a lesson... probably that cocky Rooster Rey.

Where did that all come from?
Well...
Occasionally I come across a blog that I thoroughly enjoy.  It may be the writer's topic that draws me in, but it's always her voice that keeps me reading.  Every so often I will go aaaalllllll the way back to the beginning of that blog and read it straight through from the beginning to the present. 
Blogs are written in present tense, like journals... in the now.
I think there's something magical about that present-tense voice.  It transports the reader back in time... to read along until the past (which feels like the present) becomes the real present.

So...

With that long and convoluted explanation, that is how I met this rooster. (And, my goodness, he is gorgeous!)  I saw his photo and kept clicking back to look again.  Finally I contacted his owner, my new blog friend Amy, and asked if I might use his photo as a reference for a painting.

I don't know much about this particular guy.

I know he's from a breed called Icelandic Chickens.

If he was gentle and behaved, I bet he fathered lots of little chickies.

If he was kind of a jerk, I bet he made some fine dumplings.

As for the story character... you see, Amy wrote another post about some unsavory characters that did not make life pleasant on their beautiful farm for a time.  She said they were weasels, a passel of weasels. She said that someone should write a story with that title.  Sooooo.... if you're reading, Amy, I'd love to learn the fate of these guys!  

Dolly, Dominique, Sylvia, Red Red, Fancy, Other Red

What would my happy little hens think if I brought this beautiful Rey the Rooster home!

Original Oil Painting on 16"x16" Wrapped Canvas.
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Little Red Hen

Meet Red Red...
    Or maybe it's Other Red.
I can never be sure because they look exactly alike and are right beside each other all.. the... time!

Here's the thing...
We gave them names when we got them, but we always ended up calling them "The Reds."  I felt bad that they didn't have their own names, so we decided to make the red and the other red proper nouns. They became Red Red and Other Red.

At night Red Red and Other Red live in the Cousin House with Fancy while Sylvia, Dolly, and Monique live in the Sister House. They all hang out together during the day.

Red Red
She is funny and smart and brave.  As soon as I let them out in the mornings, she follows me right to the back door.  She's learned that if she's right there, I'll toss her a handful of treats.  She's happy to eat right out of my hand or stick her head down into the treat jar.  

Other Red
Ditto everything I just wrote about Red Red. Except for the times when one is laying an egg, they're together.

Fancy
What a little sweetheart.  She's gentle and timid and maybe a little slow.  She is usually waddling up about the time everyone else has just finished whatever treat I've just tossed out.  She's the easiest to pick up which is a good thing because she's never quite ready when put everyone else to bed.  We end up picking her up and putting her in the coop.

Sylvia
This one has the attitude!  We laugh at her all the time because she has a mind of her own. She's been a good mama twice though. We love the pretty blue eggs she lays for us.

Dolly
Dolly is kind of bossy, maybe even a little grumpy sometimes.  I think she wants to be head hen.  She was a good mama this summer.  You can see a little one under her.

Monique
The beautiful hen was that little baby under Dolly in the photo above.  She just began laying eggs of her own this week.  She's still pretty skittish, but she's settling in to being a grown up instead of the baby.

Here are the girls having a sunbath beside their houses. They're so funny.

I completed this painting during a painting retreat last weekend at Welcome Home Retreat in Weatherford, Texas.

 Original Oil Painting on 6"x 8" Wrapped Canvas.

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The Minstrel (a.k.a. Oo-de-lally)

I wonder what my five little hens would think if this guy came over to strut around the yard!

Wait!  

I know!

They'd say, "OOOooooooo-de-lally!!!"

Sorry...

Now that song will be stuck in your head all day long.

Ha ha!  Oh, well, it's a pretty happy thing to have stuck in your head.

"Laughin' back and forth at what the other'ne has to say
Reminiscin', This-'n'-thattin' havin' such a good time
Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day!"

Thanks Roger Miller for 

writing such a fun song.

These words fit pretty well for how my painting partners and I felt while we were painting roosters.

By the way, did you know that Robin Hood rooster had a name?  
It was Allan-a-dale.  
Hm... who knew!

Original Oil Painting on 12"x 16" Wrapped Canavas
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