Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Bertha Roosts on My Head

Photo by Dad

I've always claimed a special rapport with dogs and children. We just generally get along well. Apparently this rapport extends to chickens. One afternoon during my recent trip to Virginia, I was sitting out on the porch, reading a book, minding my own business, when Bertha, the fine chicken pictured here, ambled up, hopped onto my lap, and then perched on my head. She's an friendly creature but apparently has never done any such thing in the past. A funny moment, to be sure (though I confess, I was glad she didn't decide to poop while up there). Now if I can just figure out how to turn this into some sort of circus act...

7 comments:

  1. Anonymous3:27 PM

    do you have the picture of your father riding his tricyce with the hen perched on the handlebars?

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    1. Oh, I had forgotten that. (I fear I don't have a picture, though I've heard the lore.) Perhaps "chicken whispering" runs in the family.

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  2. Teresa6:43 PM

    I love this photo. Wish you had a like button.

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    1. Bertha is quite an adventuresome lass. Today I found her happily nesting in the back of the pickup truck of the workmen who are installing our new heating and air conditioning system just clucking away.

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    2. Bertha is quite an adventuresome lass. Today I found her happily nesting in the back of the pickup truck of the workmen who are installing our new heating and air conditioning system just clucking away.

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    3. T-Rex, I will accept your comment as a proxy "Like".

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    4. Bertha has been carousing with workmen? I'm jealous. (Brings to mind a lyric of the old song "Cluck Old Hen" — well a lyric from one of the versions; as with most old folk songs there are many — "My old hen, she won't do. She lays eggs for the railroad crew." The song, of course, is a husband's veiled lament about his cheating wife. Hen = wife. Laying eggs = well, you get the idea... Another line: "Cluck, old hen. Cluck and squaw. Ain't had eggs since way last fall." I sometimes wander around the house singing it and plucking along on my mandolin. Hearing the cryptic lyrics, they asked what the song was about. Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I vaguely alluded to its metaphorical meaning. Now when I play it, they wail for me to stop and proclaim it "disgusting!")

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