Friday, September 2, 2011

the daily(ish)

I’ve been yapping to the Wife about wanting to get chickens when we move home for a few years now.  I want a couple of backyard hens and enjoy our own fresh, organic eggs.  It has been an uphill battle and although she finally agreed at some point last year, she’s now backtracking and pretending not to remember saying yes.  I think this was her plan all along.  Tell me yes so I’ll shut up about them and then as we get close to moving home, play dumb.  I’ve got your number, Wife.  I’ve got it.

The Wife actually hates all birds.  In all honesty, she has good reason.  Birds always seem to attack her…there was that bird that flew out of a hanging flower basket on our old porch that pecked her in the head when she watered the plants, the giant crane that did a “don’t you even think about passing by me”  dance and beak stabbing that had her trapped for a good 10 minutes at an animal park, and I’ll never forget looking back for her while walking in the Australian Outback and seeing her running and flailing her arms in the air as a black and white magpie was dive bombing her in the head.   The feeling is a mutual one, I suppose.

We were sitting outside the Louvre last Friday and this guys walks hobbles up…


I know it looks awful, but it was obviously an old injury amputation and he seemed fine.  The Wife, however, took one look at him and turned to me almost tearfully and said “Oh no, the poor baby! I need a cracker for him!!”- I didn’t have a cracker, but if I had I would have gladly given it to him.  Not for being a gimp pigeon, because I'm not a fan of those little begger birds, missing foot or not. No, I would have gladly given him a whole sleeve of saltines because he gave me such a brilliant idea.  All I need to do now is find some slightly disabled chickens.

Organic omelets, here we come.