After Sirius died, we fostered another brown chicken, but I haven’t bothered naming her. She came paired with another orphan and the two of them are collectively called “the chickadoos”. The other chickadoo ran away and then showed up last week with 6 babies, so she is in the coop of shame with her brood right now. I guess I’ll be painting her next, because apparently I have traded my fire hydrant fixation for chickens. I’m reading fancy poultry books at my desk and imagining a career as a blue ribbon chicken portrait artist, touring the country's livestock competitions to paint only the best and most ruthless of the chicken champions.
so beautiful
Plucky and the Chickadoo, ready to murder me for pancakes
Embarrassing.
The rooster responsible for this has been chucked in a ditch by the Christmas tree farm.
(Alive.)
Lines indicate frame size. I'm going to crop it in pretty closely.
So majestic
Book me now for prizewinner portraits, chicken fanciers.
(BOK ME NOW, HA)
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