Judy925
Late September of 2016, I was the recipient of the best birthday gift - EVER! My neighbor brought me 1 cat carrier, one HUGE sealed brown bag of something, the biggest grin I'd ever seen on any person - ever, oh, and the thing she had inside the cat carrier... an 8-week old Buff Columbian Cochin hen who was the CUTEST chicken in the galaxy (sorry y'all - it's true).
I must be in love because I propagate succulents for a living in order to create succulent arrangements (outta this world - check them out and google Sierra Cactus in Corona, CA), which are growing in almost every inch of my backyard. Love is killing anyone who dares to go near my cutting if they have feet on the end of their legs, and yet extending total forgiveness when my Tweety Bird - shut up, it's the best name ever, walks all over them telling me what she likes about them, what she doesn't, eats the snails that love to nosh on them, pecks the leaves which has destroyed more plants than not, poops poops that are sometimes larger than a Great Dane, doesn't warn me she did it, lets me step right in it, then laughs hysterically at me when I yell ICK ICK ICK as I run all over the place and talks to me all day long as we work together everyday back there.
I've been told that I must get her more chickens to hang out with. I considered it once until I noticed I started growing feathers so we are now two of a kind, and the one day my neighbor brought HER hen over, and after maybe 2 minutes of investigating each other, they both walked away in search of more interesting things. I'm pretty sure if I did bring in another bird and they bonded, I would be nothing more than a caretaker for birds who would hardly give me a second glance until their food bowls are empty, that is.
Since I already have a husband and twin sons that already do that, I decided that bringing in more chickens would only double my workload and make me cry even more than I did before Tweedy showed up.
To anyone tempted to admonish me for not letting on to her that there are more cluckers out there she may like more than me, tough noogies. We are monogamous, and we intend to stay that way.
We both have so much in common, we both whine a lot, we yell for no reason, we laugh for no reason, we get under each other's feet all day, we sing together, we both LOVE white bread, her more than me perhaps, we LOVE oysters (I eat the oysters, she eats the shells), we both LOVE Cream of Wheat which is wicked healthy for both of us (I get the creamy she gets the dry mixed into her food), and we both celebrate for hours after she lays an egg every morning. There is only one problem with that... when she does her "song" (it's more like a screech which will never get her on America's Got Talent - YOU tell her that, I don't have the heart) the neighbors know there are eggs and now I have to share. I HATE when that happens.
Because we have feral cats running at night, she sleeps in a HUGE cage which is covered with her banky and has a perch on which she perches and which gives us both a very solid good night's sleep. Although at dusk she likes to sit on top of the cage and squawks when she has to go to bed, so I thought about changing her name to Snoopy.
I have come to believe bipolar disorder is not genetic. She actually gave it to me when she went into her first brood and had me hysterical because I thought she was dying. Then she came out of it, and I was happy again, then she brooded again, and made me nuts, then came out of it and made me happy, and on and on and on... Why I didn't ask anyone what she was dying of is still a mystery (I think I was afraid someone would tell me she really WAS dying). When I found out, I just found it annoying and found out what she needed to snap out of it. A loaded shotgun in her face usually does the trick. It worked with my kids and it works with her. I wonder where else that would work.... hmmmm.
And then I discovered YOU guys and my life is now complete. So if anyone asks me what the meaning of life is, I can spare them from seeking some 900 year-old guru on the top of a Nepalese mountain and just tell them "chickens." They are the answer to why we are here.
I must be in love because I propagate succulents for a living in order to create succulent arrangements (outta this world - check them out and google Sierra Cactus in Corona, CA), which are growing in almost every inch of my backyard. Love is killing anyone who dares to go near my cutting if they have feet on the end of their legs, and yet extending total forgiveness when my Tweety Bird - shut up, it's the best name ever, walks all over them telling me what she likes about them, what she doesn't, eats the snails that love to nosh on them, pecks the leaves which has destroyed more plants than not, poops poops that are sometimes larger than a Great Dane, doesn't warn me she did it, lets me step right in it, then laughs hysterically at me when I yell ICK ICK ICK as I run all over the place and talks to me all day long as we work together everyday back there.
I've been told that I must get her more chickens to hang out with. I considered it once until I noticed I started growing feathers so we are now two of a kind, and the one day my neighbor brought HER hen over, and after maybe 2 minutes of investigating each other, they both walked away in search of more interesting things. I'm pretty sure if I did bring in another bird and they bonded, I would be nothing more than a caretaker for birds who would hardly give me a second glance until their food bowls are empty, that is.
Since I already have a husband and twin sons that already do that, I decided that bringing in more chickens would only double my workload and make me cry even more than I did before Tweedy showed up.
To anyone tempted to admonish me for not letting on to her that there are more cluckers out there she may like more than me, tough noogies. We are monogamous, and we intend to stay that way.
We both have so much in common, we both whine a lot, we yell for no reason, we laugh for no reason, we get under each other's feet all day, we sing together, we both LOVE white bread, her more than me perhaps, we LOVE oysters (I eat the oysters, she eats the shells), we both LOVE Cream of Wheat which is wicked healthy for both of us (I get the creamy she gets the dry mixed into her food), and we both celebrate for hours after she lays an egg every morning. There is only one problem with that... when she does her "song" (it's more like a screech which will never get her on America's Got Talent - YOU tell her that, I don't have the heart) the neighbors know there are eggs and now I have to share. I HATE when that happens.
Because we have feral cats running at night, she sleeps in a HUGE cage which is covered with her banky and has a perch on which she perches and which gives us both a very solid good night's sleep. Although at dusk she likes to sit on top of the cage and squawks when she has to go to bed, so I thought about changing her name to Snoopy.
I have come to believe bipolar disorder is not genetic. She actually gave it to me when she went into her first brood and had me hysterical because I thought she was dying. Then she came out of it, and I was happy again, then she brooded again, and made me nuts, then came out of it and made me happy, and on and on and on... Why I didn't ask anyone what she was dying of is still a mystery (I think I was afraid someone would tell me she really WAS dying). When I found out, I just found it annoying and found out what she needed to snap out of it. A loaded shotgun in her face usually does the trick. It worked with my kids and it works with her. I wonder where else that would work.... hmmmm.
And then I discovered YOU guys and my life is now complete. So if anyone asks me what the meaning of life is, I can spare them from seeking some 900 year-old guru on the top of a Nepalese mountain and just tell them "chickens." They are the answer to why we are here.
- Birthday
- September 25
- Website
- http://facebook.com/sierracactus
- Location
- Corona, CA
- Real Name
- Judy Harris
- Gender
- Female
- Occupation
- Succulent propagation - succulent arrangements
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