The Year of the Chicken

I've decided to name 2012 "The Year of the Chicken" in our house. 

I truly didn't expect these creepy birds to nestle themselves so comfortably into my heart, but they did.

I can't quite put my finger on what it is about them that I love so much, except that they just make me smile.

I like to smile.

I love the little chicken prints in the snow. Yes, it's partly because the snow is covering up all the chicken poop they've scattered about my porch, but still, I love their little feetsies.

In the mornings when we have to get up before the sun comes up, and in our Idaho winter that's after 7:30 a.m., the chickens are on our porch as soon as they see our kitchen light go on.

They trek on up to the back door to say hello.

And poop, of course.

They also like to peck at the door.

As if we would let them in.

Often Gunny Bunny is on the outside looking in with them. I regret to admit that he is a big fan of chicken poop.

The man has no class.

He also eats Almond Roca out of the cats' litter box.

No. Class.

It is perhaps the biggest reason why he gets no lip kisses from me.

Never mind that I loathe dog slobber, it gives me hives.

That's neither here nor there though. I came here to talk to you about chickens.

I want to share with you this ornament that sums up our year. It's a little chicken coop, and it was given to Peanut Head this year by his mother, The Barefoot Contessa, and his cousin, Alison.

The two of them have mad ornament bestowing skillz.

This is Stinkerbell's chicken ornament.

And Zoe Bug's.

And mine. I always get the last word around here, and this ornament proclaims it to the world.

Love. Love.

Thank you BFC and Alison.

 

In other news I happened upon this alarming scene today when I returned from work.

At first I noticed all the fancy riding jackets and breeches, and my sharply honed observational skills told me that Zoe was responsible for this scene. She's the fancy one in this house.

Before Christmas there was nary a riding jacket or pair of breeches to be had in this house.

Cue the relatives. 

It seems we are now up to our ears in breech and jacket clad, fancy horse riding people. And now Zoe Bug has a fancy jacket of her own, thanks to Aunt Barb. Zoe now loves Aunt Barbara best.

I have been banished to the chopped liver department.

I'm not sure what the nearly-big-as-a horse-owl is up to, but he looks like he's up to no good.

And what is in the cage? Is it a chicken? Or perhaps another owl? Or maybe it's an owl pellet? The latter would be expected in this house.