My cousin is very cool (here's his website where you can see neat projects he's worked on). He was playing with some images from a story I wrote for my Nephew. I'm not going to tell you thieves the idea of the story, cause you'll steal it and next thing you know, I'll be at the bookstore and see MY STORY published by some thieving chicken butt.
But, I had to share this with you. Isn't this the cutest Chicken out there?
I like chickens in a "they're fun to make fun of" way and in a "they're really yummy" way.
In several stories that I've written with my BFF, Chickens serve as comic relief. There is one half formed scene where Chickens are catapulted en mass al la Monty Python and the Holy Grail upon the enemy, and another reference to a mage student accidentally transporting one chicken into each room in a school, instead of one chicken into one room and the mess THAT caused. There is a scene with a warrior who is chasing chickens while quite pregnant (trying to catch one for dinner, which she would inevitably burn any how), and a few references to scaring chickens bald. In short, in almost every story, there is a chicken somewhere.
I suppose some of this might come from one of our TRUE family stories. A long time ago, my mother attempted farm life. The first time she fed the chickens, she tossed the feed at her feet. The chickens were rather enthusiastic about their pecking, and quickly she found her toes in pain from their sharp little beaks. So, she made a run for it. And the chickens followed, probably because she was trailing feed as she ran, either that or they were DEMON SPAWN out to peck the toes of EVERYONE starting with my mother. She was attempting to jump on to the porch, slipped, and rammed right into it. And the chickens were still coming. Finally she pulled herself on to the porch and vowed never to feed the damn things again. Of course, the next day she had to feed the stupid things, because it was just her and my biological dad and my very young older brother. So she chucked the feed as far as she could and ran for the porch, the stupid chickens running after her. This was one of the many stories we used to tell around the dinner table. We loved these stories, begged to hear them, took turns retelling them, and as a family we laughed and laughed and laughed until often we were gasping for air.
Thus ends our edition of
Chicken Art Friday. Next week I'll show you something else. Probably a feathered creature of some sort, since I've gotten decently good at painting those. Except I gave away the Flamingo painting after I realized that while it was good, who would want a flamingo hanging on their wall?
Updated: Guess what I had for lunch? Yup, CHICKEN. Buttermilk Fried Chicken to be exact.