My mother’s friend is a concert pianist with a deep and abiding love of chickens. She orders eggs from all over the world – greens ones, blue ones, eggs with speckles, eggs with splotches. After a time, tiny beaks emerge, pecking their way through decorative shells. With a little encouragement, they grow to look like:
Princess Diana:
Rod Stewart:
Cher at the Academy Awards:
Sharon Osbourne:
DID YOU GET A LOAD OF THESE BEAUTIES? I love them! I want! I want!
Our friend tells us they all have different personalities. I've never thought of chickens having personalities, but if I looked like one of these babies, I’d strut around admiring myself all the live-long day, z-snapping everyone in sight.
Photo credits:
First, third and fourth from here
Second photo from here here,
What Possessed Me
- A blog about fixation, fascination and unhealthy infatuation.
(And the occasional baby panda.)
Track Me Down
- whatpossessedme at gmail dot com
Search
The Voices Made Me Do It
- This is love.
- Sunday. Recovering.
- Three scenes
- The bacchanal
- Of tempests and tea parties
- Love me, love my list
- In it to win it
- The Great Mitten Caper
- Waiting for the other shoe to drop
- The rule
- Taking things a bit too seriously
- No decoration without emasculation!
- Put up, suck up, and shut up
- Note to self
- Please be advised
- Special hate post
