The dream of any young Rooster Roo, a full figured lady, a personality as soft as her look. Tanya was the kind of hen dreams are made of. Her bottom was the envy of all the pullets around, soft, warm, fluffy, and engaging. The sheen of her ruby red engorged chicken breast against the iridescence of her secondary feathers alone would develop infatuations and jealousy of unknown comparison. Tanya was quite possibly the most beautiful young black rock hen the world over. Like any legendary figure, she was not meant to be forever, time was not meant to spoil her beauty, she was not meant to fall on hard times, have chicks of her own, struggle to keep scratch feed on the table and settle down into obscurity. Even in death, ordinary never touched her. The curious circumstances surrounding her demise has fashioned an even bigger than life figure out of the already made legend. If you havent already heard the story of Tonya, I will run through the whole miserable mess of it.
Im anonymous, or thats how I would like to introduce myself to you. If you are unable to comprehend the humor in that sentence, you need not journey any further in this literary voyage, I fear you lack in your understanding. I was raised far away from farm animals, not quite the city but definitely classified as the burbs. Sure I had known lizards, fish, ferrets and the likes but it was just too bland, I found it felt too uptight. The first chance I got, I got kicked out of the house. That too is a humorous sentence. I will give you another chance to read that sentence and analyze the humor in it, otherwise, you can stop reading now, and youre wasting both of our time. I hadnt a clue on what I wanted out of life, but I sure knew a few things that I didnt want. I ended starting a new part of my life south of the mason Dixon line, somewhere in the county where you still felt like you lived in town but without most of the laws and the taxes, its a great feeling when most laws dont pertain to you, it was more than a fair trade off for just having to pay for garbage service and flogging the occasional drug riddled thief after trying to make off with what was in your broke down car in the yard. I have fancied myself for years as a recluse in the most conservative of ways, and living back in the unknown was more than a slice of run down heaven in my eyes.
It wasnt long until I settled into my sad little house, bored, tired, and lonely. The shine of the new move, house, job, bootleg liquor and location had not only worn off but worn me down as well. Desperately longing for spring, being my favorite season, bringing in new adventures and warm breezes carrying honeysuckle. I realized that since the laws dont pertain to me since I paid LESS for my house than Joe Shmo, I would take advantage of my legal situation the best I could and became dead set on having chickens of my own. Jake and I tried for months but I was never able to have chickens. I dont think Jake was fertile and blame him to this day that I had to suffer through life without the prestigious company of hens about me. We ended up adopting newborn chicks, just a day old not long after. My other half, well itd say hes my other 1/8th if you want to know how I feel, soon started to hate them and mock them at every turn, damaging forever their self esteem. Soon after the new arrivals of four beautiful black sex-link day old chicks, he became quite cold and emotionally evasive toward the girls and I. I knew that he was one of those guys who see people in terms of color and for me to have black children became somewhat of an abomination in his cynical eyes. I raised the girls by myself as a destitute mother in the spare bathroom in the tub, struggling to keep enough Layena brand Chick Starter Grower Crumbles in the house. Cleaning the tub every day became tiring, mind numbing and thankless work. I would sit in the bathtub with my babies every day every chance I got, bonding with my brood. In what seemed like weeks they were escaping the safety of the tub and jumping into the garbage cans, toilets and whatever they could get their fluffy bodies into. I assumed with the mortality rate of being 25% of baby chicks that I would lose at least one of my girls but they grew up stronger and stronger day after day. Eventually I purchased a large cage to keep them in so they could move from the bathroom into my bedroom so they wouldnt be disturbed by people relieving themselves next to their place of rest. I myself could relate, there was a time when waking up next to a puddle of anonymous urine was nothing to blink an eye at, but this was not the life I had wanted for my offspring. Time ran amok and my chicks became wild teenagers, growing their fleshy Mohawks out, wanting to be released from their room every chance they got. I would let them run free around my house against my better judgment just so they would have something to look back on at the expense of my going through one roll of paper towels a day, following them around constantly scooping up moist chick bombs laying about the house, giving me a sense of importance. As with most things over time, reality set in. Life with my babies was still very fulfilling even though jake had yet to warm up to our new family, but I knew they had outgrown the tub, the bathroom, the cage and the bedroom, I knew it was time for them to fly the coop.
They all had very divergent personalities. Ron, as a child had a small blond patch on the top of her black fuzzy head. Out of the bunch she was the most adventurous, I would find her in the toilet or flying onto the heat lamp. Her eyes were giant and green, like finely cute emeralds. Baldie was the babe who was missing large noticeable patches of puff around her shoulders and neck, I thought perhaps she wouldnt make it, apparently, there was nothing wrong with her. Radar was the unremarkable chick, never causing trouble, never adventurous; nothing setting her apart from the others in physical uniqueness except for the fact that there was absolutely nothing odd about her. I would pay no mind or worry to radar because radar just flew under my radar, and that is how she came into her name. Tanya was quite the girl, she grew faster than the others, and she was a live one. Always held the attention but never did anything to have to get it. Eyes and minds would just be drawn to her. She also had a little white mark on her head and around her eyes. After living outdoors and growing even larger into young adults, Tanya was the first to get her red chest, the other girls would tease but Tanya knew she was moving on from pullet-hood and becoming a hen. The weeks went by and more chickens were brought into our household. As batches of chicks rolled our of the bathroom like a conveyor of love and happiness, and outside into the world one by one, they would live amongst each other but separately. There was no mingling between the differing races of chickens; this I do believe is the end result of Jakes callous influence on the babes. They chickens grew up fast, maturing, laying eggs of love for the ones they love.
Growing up in a neighborhood not ruled by city laws but by the laws of nature rocketed Tanya into hen-hood. I had no problem trusting them to do the right thing, watch each others fluffy backside because they had shown me they were ok on their own, independent poultry. Sure I would find my Tanya dirty on the street mingling and dukeing it out with cats twice her size or better and coming out with all the winnings, some say that is how she had developed such a large breast. She wasnt just a smart, beautiful and tuff hen, she was also very considerate. She used to sit in the rocking chair on the front porch just about every morning and leave one glorious, warm brown egg. I never had to search for them; there they were, right outside my door.
Rooster Roo, a.k.a Falcore, was a large and handsome golden cockerel that had come from the conveyor of chickens I had brought into the house as chicks to raise and love. I paid for a pullet but what I got was a cockerel which somehow slipped through the hatcheries sexing process, or maybe it was a joke the employees would play on the customers. Well considering they throw out a good majority of the males, I prefer to think someone had a heart and wanted to save this big fat chick. I would definitely consider this poor soul a late bloomer. By the time the black hens were squatting and thinking about Roos, Falcore was just beginning to get his iridescent sickle feathers.
It wasnt long until most of the hens had pinpointed Falcores inadequacies. They would pick at him, literally. They noticed the dried poo crusties that would dribble down from his vent and affix themselves to his massive puff of a butt, his awkward amble, everything he tried so desperately to hide. He was just a joke to them and he knew this, it drove him to despise the hens, run from them, but one hen was smarter than that, one hen knew how essential Falcore was, he was the defender, the provider in training and they were busting his rooster balls. While the other pullets were keeping themselves busy chasing him off and pecking at his face, the good nature in Tanya would realize itself to me. She would quietly sit, trying to set a good example the best one solitary hen could do in a world filled with ravenous raptor like chickens, reverting to their ancient selves. If you have watched Jurassic park, then you know what I mean about the raptor showing through a good looking hen. Sure theyre sweet, puffy and like nothing better than innocent corn and grains to peck at, but show them a slice of bologna, a pool of blood, and they come alive. Flesh ripping ravenous beasts, displaying their snake like tongues as they chew through your cheeseburgers without so much as batting an eye. I must recall to you a time when I was ingesting one of McDonalds culinary casualties in the shed while I was sitting on a milk crate with the doors open. One sweet hen, I believe it was good natured Radar came running in, so happy to see me. I pet her sweetly and went back to punish myself with a second bite and WHAMMO! Nothing but a flurry of talons, feathers and a sharp beak, ripping the over processed condiment covered meat product right from my lips. I could see Satan inside as she stared me down, meat sliding down from her dinosaur beak into her bulging crop, something that a catholic may interpret as a classic possession. I knew deep in my bowels I was safe from their wrath, but from that day on, I had a new found respect for my chicken children, I knew I was living in Jurassic Park, but without the cool SUVs on rails, electric fencing and repetitious theme music.
Despite the fact that they were inwardly quite vicious, Tanya never really fell victim to her ancient roots. She battled these demons since breaching from her egg shell until her untimely demise. I have always felt that the classification of a true lady is hard to define, but that was before Tanyas time. I can now define a true lady as Tanya, she is the definition, lives the definition. Dont get me wrong, I love all of my bird babies, but I have a special place in my stomach for Tanya. Her black bloomers were the largest and fluffiest of all the hens, never exposing her puckered vent as the other hens had made habit of doing, becoming careless of their hen-hood. Being as kind as to imitate Falcores ability to seep feces all over his rooster bloomers. She became the corn nugget of his eye socket. She alone was accountable for bolstering Falcores self-belief, giving him the ability to start mounting and ravaging the tiny silkie hens. I confess, seeing first hand, how awkward he was, how semi-violent and uncoordinated the whole mess of the deed had been made, but the silkies werent argumentative and the rest of the hens saw the once pre pubertal cockerel bloom into a virile pillar of masculinity.
to be continued
Im anonymous, or thats how I would like to introduce myself to you. If you are unable to comprehend the humor in that sentence, you need not journey any further in this literary voyage, I fear you lack in your understanding. I was raised far away from farm animals, not quite the city but definitely classified as the burbs. Sure I had known lizards, fish, ferrets and the likes but it was just too bland, I found it felt too uptight. The first chance I got, I got kicked out of the house. That too is a humorous sentence. I will give you another chance to read that sentence and analyze the humor in it, otherwise, you can stop reading now, and youre wasting both of our time. I hadnt a clue on what I wanted out of life, but I sure knew a few things that I didnt want. I ended starting a new part of my life south of the mason Dixon line, somewhere in the county where you still felt like you lived in town but without most of the laws and the taxes, its a great feeling when most laws dont pertain to you, it was more than a fair trade off for just having to pay for garbage service and flogging the occasional drug riddled thief after trying to make off with what was in your broke down car in the yard. I have fancied myself for years as a recluse in the most conservative of ways, and living back in the unknown was more than a slice of run down heaven in my eyes.
It wasnt long until I settled into my sad little house, bored, tired, and lonely. The shine of the new move, house, job, bootleg liquor and location had not only worn off but worn me down as well. Desperately longing for spring, being my favorite season, bringing in new adventures and warm breezes carrying honeysuckle. I realized that since the laws dont pertain to me since I paid LESS for my house than Joe Shmo, I would take advantage of my legal situation the best I could and became dead set on having chickens of my own. Jake and I tried for months but I was never able to have chickens. I dont think Jake was fertile and blame him to this day that I had to suffer through life without the prestigious company of hens about me. We ended up adopting newborn chicks, just a day old not long after. My other half, well itd say hes my other 1/8th if you want to know how I feel, soon started to hate them and mock them at every turn, damaging forever their self esteem. Soon after the new arrivals of four beautiful black sex-link day old chicks, he became quite cold and emotionally evasive toward the girls and I. I knew that he was one of those guys who see people in terms of color and for me to have black children became somewhat of an abomination in his cynical eyes. I raised the girls by myself as a destitute mother in the spare bathroom in the tub, struggling to keep enough Layena brand Chick Starter Grower Crumbles in the house. Cleaning the tub every day became tiring, mind numbing and thankless work. I would sit in the bathtub with my babies every day every chance I got, bonding with my brood. In what seemed like weeks they were escaping the safety of the tub and jumping into the garbage cans, toilets and whatever they could get their fluffy bodies into. I assumed with the mortality rate of being 25% of baby chicks that I would lose at least one of my girls but they grew up stronger and stronger day after day. Eventually I purchased a large cage to keep them in so they could move from the bathroom into my bedroom so they wouldnt be disturbed by people relieving themselves next to their place of rest. I myself could relate, there was a time when waking up next to a puddle of anonymous urine was nothing to blink an eye at, but this was not the life I had wanted for my offspring. Time ran amok and my chicks became wild teenagers, growing their fleshy Mohawks out, wanting to be released from their room every chance they got. I would let them run free around my house against my better judgment just so they would have something to look back on at the expense of my going through one roll of paper towels a day, following them around constantly scooping up moist chick bombs laying about the house, giving me a sense of importance. As with most things over time, reality set in. Life with my babies was still very fulfilling even though jake had yet to warm up to our new family, but I knew they had outgrown the tub, the bathroom, the cage and the bedroom, I knew it was time for them to fly the coop.
They all had very divergent personalities. Ron, as a child had a small blond patch on the top of her black fuzzy head. Out of the bunch she was the most adventurous, I would find her in the toilet or flying onto the heat lamp. Her eyes were giant and green, like finely cute emeralds. Baldie was the babe who was missing large noticeable patches of puff around her shoulders and neck, I thought perhaps she wouldnt make it, apparently, there was nothing wrong with her. Radar was the unremarkable chick, never causing trouble, never adventurous; nothing setting her apart from the others in physical uniqueness except for the fact that there was absolutely nothing odd about her. I would pay no mind or worry to radar because radar just flew under my radar, and that is how she came into her name. Tanya was quite the girl, she grew faster than the others, and she was a live one. Always held the attention but never did anything to have to get it. Eyes and minds would just be drawn to her. She also had a little white mark on her head and around her eyes. After living outdoors and growing even larger into young adults, Tanya was the first to get her red chest, the other girls would tease but Tanya knew she was moving on from pullet-hood and becoming a hen. The weeks went by and more chickens were brought into our household. As batches of chicks rolled our of the bathroom like a conveyor of love and happiness, and outside into the world one by one, they would live amongst each other but separately. There was no mingling between the differing races of chickens; this I do believe is the end result of Jakes callous influence on the babes. They chickens grew up fast, maturing, laying eggs of love for the ones they love.
Growing up in a neighborhood not ruled by city laws but by the laws of nature rocketed Tanya into hen-hood. I had no problem trusting them to do the right thing, watch each others fluffy backside because they had shown me they were ok on their own, independent poultry. Sure I would find my Tanya dirty on the street mingling and dukeing it out with cats twice her size or better and coming out with all the winnings, some say that is how she had developed such a large breast. She wasnt just a smart, beautiful and tuff hen, she was also very considerate. She used to sit in the rocking chair on the front porch just about every morning and leave one glorious, warm brown egg. I never had to search for them; there they were, right outside my door.
Rooster Roo, a.k.a Falcore, was a large and handsome golden cockerel that had come from the conveyor of chickens I had brought into the house as chicks to raise and love. I paid for a pullet but what I got was a cockerel which somehow slipped through the hatcheries sexing process, or maybe it was a joke the employees would play on the customers. Well considering they throw out a good majority of the males, I prefer to think someone had a heart and wanted to save this big fat chick. I would definitely consider this poor soul a late bloomer. By the time the black hens were squatting and thinking about Roos, Falcore was just beginning to get his iridescent sickle feathers.
It wasnt long until most of the hens had pinpointed Falcores inadequacies. They would pick at him, literally. They noticed the dried poo crusties that would dribble down from his vent and affix themselves to his massive puff of a butt, his awkward amble, everything he tried so desperately to hide. He was just a joke to them and he knew this, it drove him to despise the hens, run from them, but one hen was smarter than that, one hen knew how essential Falcore was, he was the defender, the provider in training and they were busting his rooster balls. While the other pullets were keeping themselves busy chasing him off and pecking at his face, the good nature in Tanya would realize itself to me. She would quietly sit, trying to set a good example the best one solitary hen could do in a world filled with ravenous raptor like chickens, reverting to their ancient selves. If you have watched Jurassic park, then you know what I mean about the raptor showing through a good looking hen. Sure theyre sweet, puffy and like nothing better than innocent corn and grains to peck at, but show them a slice of bologna, a pool of blood, and they come alive. Flesh ripping ravenous beasts, displaying their snake like tongues as they chew through your cheeseburgers without so much as batting an eye. I must recall to you a time when I was ingesting one of McDonalds culinary casualties in the shed while I was sitting on a milk crate with the doors open. One sweet hen, I believe it was good natured Radar came running in, so happy to see me. I pet her sweetly and went back to punish myself with a second bite and WHAMMO! Nothing but a flurry of talons, feathers and a sharp beak, ripping the over processed condiment covered meat product right from my lips. I could see Satan inside as she stared me down, meat sliding down from her dinosaur beak into her bulging crop, something that a catholic may interpret as a classic possession. I knew deep in my bowels I was safe from their wrath, but from that day on, I had a new found respect for my chicken children, I knew I was living in Jurassic Park, but without the cool SUVs on rails, electric fencing and repetitious theme music.
Despite the fact that they were inwardly quite vicious, Tanya never really fell victim to her ancient roots. She battled these demons since breaching from her egg shell until her untimely demise. I have always felt that the classification of a true lady is hard to define, but that was before Tanyas time. I can now define a true lady as Tanya, she is the definition, lives the definition. Dont get me wrong, I love all of my bird babies, but I have a special place in my stomach for Tanya. Her black bloomers were the largest and fluffiest of all the hens, never exposing her puckered vent as the other hens had made habit of doing, becoming careless of their hen-hood. Being as kind as to imitate Falcores ability to seep feces all over his rooster bloomers. She became the corn nugget of his eye socket. She alone was accountable for bolstering Falcores self-belief, giving him the ability to start mounting and ravaging the tiny silkie hens. I confess, seeing first hand, how awkward he was, how semi-violent and uncoordinated the whole mess of the deed had been made, but the silkies werent argumentative and the rest of the hens saw the once pre pubertal cockerel bloom into a virile pillar of masculinity.
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