cluck cluck
We love chickens around here. We don’t have our own, mind you, but the neighbors do. They have three (per city ordinance: three chickens allowed, no roosters). We love other people’s chickens, would be a better way of putting it. The cats? The chickens are bigger than any of our neighborhood cats. And we have some big scrappers over here, so that is saying something. They are free-range chickens, in the truest sense. They go for several strolls every day, and they have their boundaries. Our driveway is their eastern border; the neighbor directly across the street from us is their southern border. A half-block north is their northern border. The edge of their own yard is their western border. So I wasn’t surprised this morning to hear my son ask:
“Dad, you know chickens?”
“Sure, I know chickens. What about ’em?”
“Well, one time, at Grandma’s work, this guy brought in chickens!…” Long, rambling story about chickens follows.
Now I’m thinking — Denver grandma? Iowa grandma? Portland grandma? Hmm. Who knows?
Here’s a joke from Julia Roberts — she told it to David Letterman when I saw her on his show one time. She sez: “Actually, it’s just the punchline — You have to come up with the joke.” Ready?
“You might be living off love, but you’re killing the chickens.”
happy Saturday, all of youse.
wm
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That could possibly be very deep. I mean, free-range chicken love sure makes more chickens around here. And we do occasionally turn them into very delicious, if slightly tough and stringy, stew. Has Julia Roberts been here? Alas, we will probably never know what she was talking about. I just posted a very inspired chicken story yesterday morning, so since you are feeling chickeny this weekend check it out. See “chickens”!
April 19th, 2008 | #
Possibly very deep. Or not. I have had some chickens for neighbors before, but never chickens as actual neighbors.
April 19th, 2008 | #