Official Squatch Watchers

[apryl29]

Hilarious. Your Negan is just like my Willie. Anything red absolutely must be killed immediately. I'm sure the flowy part of it factored in too b/c movement means it's taunting him and he has to show it who's boss. Glad she wasn't upset about it though.
Oh, I need to know what's in that pizza dip.

 

[ronott1]

I just did a quick chicken count. I’ve had so many broodies and chicks, I hadn’t bothered to actually count. There could have been a few hiding inside from my count and I may have missed a couple scurrying around, but I’m down to at least 115 chickens and 10 ducks. Only 3 broodies now on 9 total eggs. Lots of chicks! And wayyy too many cockerels.

And I even got rid of 16 over the weekend!.

Time to fill the freezer!

 

[pitbullmomma]

Hilarious. Your Negan is just like my Willie. Anything red absolutely must be killed immediately. I'm sure the flowy part of it factored in too b/c movement means it's taunting him and he has to show it who's boss. Glad she wasn't upset about it though.
Oh, I need to know what's in that pizza dip.

Thank you. That shizz all makes me wanna start blogging again, except I can't put that on my blog cuz my DH reads it and then he'll know how much I REALLY REALLY hate hosting those interminable, awful dinners for his family. Truly, they are awful. I have an entire pineapple upside-down cake I baked. For no apparent reason, because nobody ate it. You want some?

Here is the pizza dip recipe. It is fast, fabulous, delicious, and the hit of every single potluck I've brought it to. Even his family ate a good portion of it.

http://deliciousdivas.blogspot.com/2008/05/pampered-chef-hot-pizza-dip.html

 

[ronott1]

You guys, this is a funny rooster story that happened yesterday.

I had to throw the dreaded, obligatory annual summer barbecue for my (very strange, elderly, not-animal-loving) inlaws this weekend, who live near and very far. Which entails an entire weekend of cooking my azz off to make a bunch of delicious food that my weirdo inlaws won't eat (seriously--because we are Italian and it is the custom to make way too much food, and they like bland unseasoned food, which I refuse to make), and watching my hubby go crazy cleaning the house and fixing anything and everything in the house, painting trim, making the house perfect, doing crazy amounts of yardwork, and complaining and being in a bad mood.

Generally, I have to take Xanax and employ large amounts of alcohol to get through it. I hate it. They are not my people (you are. Would you all like to come over here and eat leftovers until you pass out? Cuz there are still tons of food. Seriously. My door is open).
This time, I skipped the Xanax, because it doesn't even stress me out any more, it just depresses me. I just drank, put on my fake/happy/vapid inlaw face, and tried to keep up on their awkward small talk and ignore the occasional judgemental, racist, sexist, and antisemitic remark while passing the hors-d'oeuvres.

Oh yeah! The rooster story! I digress. Did I mention I really, really hate this friggin' barbecue shindig, with the fiery passion of a thousand blazing suns?

So Weird-Ass Uncle Ray invites a stranger, his daughter (who happens to live close by) to drop by for coffee and dessert (she has been dying to meet me for years, why, I don't know). And, lucky me--she turns out to to be this wildly dressed, unconventional, hippie woman with big chunky jewelry who loves animals and does Tarot. Oh, joy! She is the only one who wants to see my chickens and dogs (who are locked up in their crates the entire day and night because the fam is all afraid of dogs).

Anyway, this chick Suzanne, she is wearing these billowing, fuschia-red, fabulous balloon pants (you crafty little chicken people, you see where this is going, don't you). I'm sure they cost alot of money--she is wicked stylish!--they are so cool.

She loves the chickens. I let her feed them mealworms. She holds Flower, my sweet girl, and smells the wonder that is a warm, happy-scented back of a chicken's neck goodness. She falls in love with chickens, after stroking my good orange girl for ten minutes or so. (who wouldn't?) And then, Negan, my little tiny Serama rooster struts over.

He looks at THOSE. PANTS! So red and fiery! and his little cockerel brain goes into overdrive. He puffs out his chest, lets loose a fierce err-errr- ERRR! tiny crow, and charges her pants. Like, WTF? He flies up in a puffy rage, again and again. I couldn't tell if he was mating her leg or trying to kill her. I had to run and intervene and grab him.

When it was all said and done, she had a good three-inch long tear in those beautiful, sexy red pants. Fortunately, she has a good sense of humor. Me, I was just like (again) WTF? I have never seen my chickens do anything like that. We figured it was a massive overload of RED, and rooster testosterone. Crazy, and made for one of my favorite parts of the entire day and night.

Now you beeyatches come over here and help me eat the mountains of spinach dip, potato salad, tomato salad, pizza dip, and booze that are piled up around me. It will be a good time. Just don't wear red.

I had a Dorking cock bird that went after the orange lawn mower!

He hated that thing!

 

[pitbullmomma]

View attachment 1516895

I had a Dorking cock bird that went after the orange lawn mower!

He hated that thing!

Is it rage? Is it lust? A freaky lil combination of both?

I was going for lust, because he was doing all those other roostery-type things before and after the attack/love-session/pants-ripping-ritual: puffing the chest, bumping the puffed chest, strutting, crowing, flapping the feathers....

I suppose that could be rage too, though, because they probably do that stuff when they fight. Not that I ever want to see a cockfight, or ever will, cuz that stuff makes me sick.

(Oh, I'm not gonna mention that you said "Dorking cock bird"

but I know that @Chickassan will not let that one slip by, ha.)

 

[ronott1]

Is it rage? Is it lust? A freaky lil combination of both?

I was going for lust, because he was doing all those other roostery-type things before and after the attack/love-session/pants-ripping-ritual: puffing the chest, bumping the puffed chest, strutting, crowing, flapping the feathers....

I suppose that could be rage too, though, because they probably do that stuff when they fight. Not that I ever want to see a cockfight, or ever will, cuz that stuff makes me sick.

(Oh, I'm not gonna mention that you said "Dorking cock bird" <Beavislol!> but I know that @Chickassan will not let that one slip by, ha.)

It was a threat and he was protecting the flock. They are chickens and are not too smart LOL. The red dress that billowed was going to kill his hens so he had to kill it!

 

[apryl29]

Thank you. That shizz all makes me wanna start blogging again, except I can't put that on my blog cuz my DH reads it and then he'll know how much I REALLY REALLY hate hosting those interminable, awful dinners for his family. Truly, they are awful. I have an entire pineapple upside-down cake I baked. For no apparent reason, because nobody ate it. You want some?

Here is the pizza dip recipe. It is fast, fabulous, delicious, and the hit of every single potluck I've brought it to. Even his family ate a good portion of it.

http://deliciousdivas.blogspot.com/2008/05/pampered-chef-hot-pizza-dip.html

Thanks! And I'd LOVE some pineapple cake! My younger one is allergic to pineapple so no pineapple cake for us (she'll eat it if it's there and it makes her mouth itchy)... My mom always made a pineapple cake where you wring out crushed pineaple and mix it w/ vanilla pudding and put it on the cake. It was SOOOOOoooooo good, but we can't have it anymore.
Maybe you can take the cake to the fire station or some place like that.

 

[WVduckchick]

You guys, this is a funny rooster story that happened yesterday.

I had to throw the dreaded, obligatory annual summer barbecue for my (very strange, elderly, not-animal-loving) inlaws this weekend, who live near and very far. Which entails an entire weekend of cooking my azz off to make a bunch of delicious food that my weirdo inlaws won't eat (seriously--because we are Italian and it is the custom to make way too much food, and they like bland unseasoned food, which I refuse to make), and watching my hubby go crazy cleaning the house and fixing anything and everything in the house, painting trim, making the house perfect, doing crazy amounts of yardwork, and complaining and being in a bad mood.

Generally, I have to take Xanax and employ large amounts of alcohol to get through it. I hate it. They are not my people (you are. Would you all like to come over here and eat leftovers until you pass out? Cuz there are still tons of food. Seriously. My door is open).
This time, I skipped the Xanax, because it doesn't even stress me out any more, it just depresses me. I just drank, put on my fake/happy/vapid inlaw face, and tried to keep up on their awkward small talk and ignore the occasional judgemental, racist, sexist, and antisemitic remark while passing the hors-d'oeuvres.

Oh yeah! The rooster story! I digress. Did I mention I really, really hate this friggin' barbecue shindig, with the fiery passion of a thousand blazing suns?

So Weird-Ass Uncle Ray invites a stranger, his daughter (who happens to live close by) to drop by for coffee and dessert (she has been dying to meet me for years, why, I don't know). And, lucky me--she turns out to to be this wildly dressed, unconventional, hippie woman with big chunky jewelry who loves animals and does Tarot. Oh, joy! She is the only one who wants to see my chickens and dogs (who are locked up in their crates the entire day and night because the fam is all afraid of dogs).

Anyway, this chick Suzanne, she is wearing these billowing, fuschia-red, fabulous balloon pants (you crafty little chicken people, you see where this is going, don't you). I'm sure they cost alot of money--she is wicked stylish!--they are so cool.

She loves the chickens. I let her feed them mealworms. She holds Flower, my sweet girl, and smells the wonder that is a warm, happy-scented back of a chicken's neck goodness. She falls in love with chickens, after stroking my good orange girl for ten minutes or so. (who wouldn't?) And then, Negan, my little tiny Serama rooster struts over.

He looks at THOSE. PANTS! So red and fiery! and his little cockerel brain goes into overdrive. He puffs out his chest, lets loose a fierce err-errr- ERRR! tiny crow, and charges her pants. Like, WTF? He flies up in a puffy rage, again and again. I couldn't tell if he was mating her leg or trying to kill her. I had to run and intervene and grab him.

When it was all said and done, she had a good three-inch long tear in those beautiful, sexy red pants. Fortunately, she has a good sense of humor. Me, I was just like (again) WTF? I have never seen my chickens do anything like that. We figured it was a massive overload of RED, and rooster testosterone. Crazy, and made for one of my favorite parts of the entire day and night.

Now you beeyatches come over here and help me eat the mountains of spinach dip, potato salad, tomato salad, pizza dip, and booze that are piled up around me. It will be a good time. Just don't wear red.

too funny. Good thing he's such a little fella.
I had a cockerel that would attack my red food scoop. Not the green one... just the red one.
And I'm Italian too, so I understand all too well about the over the top amount of food. I'd have sampled all of it. Especially the booze.

 

[ronott1]

too funny. Good thing he's such a little fella.
I had a cockerel that would attack my red food scoop. Not the green one... just the red one.
And I'm Italian too, so I understand all too well about the over the top amount of food. I'd have sampled all of it. Especially the booze.

It is not just Italians that make too much food. You should see the food when my Irish Catholic relatives get together!

 

[WVduckchick]

Time to fill the freezer!

I really should... its just that they are all so little. Bantam cochins and seramas. I'm not sure they are worth the bother. And I can't seem to work up the courage to do the deed either.