What I don’t know about chickens

daphne on June 16, 2011

Chicken:

Not a chicken:

Hang tight. We have just about reached the end of my knowledge about chickens.

They have beady little eyes.

The color of the eggs they lay is directly linked to the color of their earlobes.  Impressive sounding, right?  At least until you get to the obvious follow-up question.

So no, I do not know how one locates a chicken earlobe.

I also do not know how the eggs decide who will go on to become a big chick and who joins us for breakfast.

Nor do I understand what drove the children to spend copious amounts of time passing weeds into the coop.

Perhaps it had to do with the pathetic state of farm strawberries this year.  Hail damaged and dusty, we picked barely enough to squeak out 4 jars of jam  Hardly enough to get us through the summer, let alone the school year, but I am not concerned in the slightest.

Who needs cowboy-hick-farmland berries anyway?

Not us.

We are partial to their beautifully bountiful backyard suburban cousins.

Arrrr, Keep Ye Quarters (& bring me them toys)

daphne on June 6, 2011

We’ve spoken before about my aversion to teeth. I especially deplore this habit they have of being cohesive team players in the mouth one day and walking the plank the next.

Warning: this post features a picture of one terribly frightening mug

Isn’t it horrible?  The mish-mash of unevenness and drool and bloody gums.  This maw only an orthodontist could love.

But be yea warned.  The pirate behind these pearls is one tough negotiator. She who takes her fairies seriously and who frankly has had it with quarters.

If she really considered herself a friend to the fairies she might have thought twice about throwing a wrench into the tooth fairy’s already tight schedule.  The poor fairy, who not only had to deal with the existential parenting conundrum of keeping faith alive, but now had to scramble and rummage through the dark house in hopes of discovering an unfamiliar yet worthy toy.

Impressively, I happened upon this.  One perfect glass frog.  More than equal in value to one bloody little baby tooth.

The next morning breakfast was full of musings.  Yes, my pirate was thrilled with her bounty, but how had the fairy found such a gem?

And if she had such awesome toys in her arsenal, what’s the deal with the lousy quarters?

What exactly are the logistics of maneuvering it beneath the pillow?

And what on earth could she be planning with all those teeth?