Holy heckin’ heck.
I’ve never been an early morning person, but since we’d gotten our chickens, getting out of bed to greet them at the rosy-fingered dawn with musical wakey-wakeys and a tray of their favorite things has been surprisingly easy and a delight. In the last several weeks I’ve been obsessing over the security of their run and trying to discover new ways to keep my new feathery friends happy and clean in their coop. The challenge was to quickly secure an enclosed space and make it predator-proof. Getting up so early also makes it necessary for me to go bed by 10 or 11 pm which seems too preposterous for a lifelong night owl.
I really love birds of all sorts. When I was barely in my 20s, I had a sweet blue parakeet named Squeezy Toy and when he died of old age I was truly heartbroken. As a tribute to him, I made a quick post-mortem painting in gouache and ink. Often, when I’d find small recently deceased birds I’d make quick studies of them to better fasten their colors or shapes to my memory.
A post-mortem portrait of Squeezy Toy. Watercolor and gouache, 11” x 9.5”.
Our flock of ten is a mix of a few different breeds; it was fun trying to figure out which kinds they might be. We settled on Rhode Island Reds, Orpingtons, Plymouth Rock. The white chicken (that’s Clarice) is still a mystery. A bantam Brahma? /shrug\ She is a sweet old girl.
And eggs. Goodness, yes— over 100 eggs in a month. We’ve eaten a lot, sold a bunch, and given some away. The hens seem happy. Have you heard the “Egg Song”? It goes like this: Buk, b-GAWK! Buk, b-GAWK! over and over again until the hen lays her egg.
Unsolicited c@ck pics. Mr. Fonzarelli is a Cochin and is actually a very nice roo. Check out those spurs!
The rooster is an interesting character. During their evening excursions into the yard to forage, he’ll find a bug or other tasty comestible and will cluck and point with his beak, pick it up, put it down, and cluck some more until one of the hens rushes over to him then he’ll give the tidbit to her. He’s also very particular about his house, the coop. When the straw and bedding is changed in the nesting boxes, he’ll take turns sitting in the nesting box, clucking like a hen while making a depression in the straw, percolating some more until he’s satisfied it’s up to snuff.
Over the years, I’ve confirmed for myself that the best art research materials are the ones that are real and directly observable: samples, specimens, actual subjects to observe, etc. are the best information. First-hand knowledge is the sharpest teacher. Having the living animals right in front of me is such a treat and my mind is already working on the possibilities of how I might incorporate chickens into my future artwork —as real entities or with fantasy-imbued elements.
I’ve long considered that birds are just tiny dinosaurs; chickens are what evolved from the great Saurians that once dominated the earth. If you’ve ever heard their loud gronks and eerie trills, seen their baleful eyes and scaled feet up close, you’ll know my comparison is on to something. Observe then the utter ridiculousness with which the chickens’ feathery “pants” bounce and sway when they run across the grass and have a good belly laugh when you imagine that some species of dinosaurs were probably also as feathery and likely as dorkishly cute. Might dinosaurs also have had combs and wattles to help them regulate their body temperature? Would these have been red or perhaps some other color or striped like the frilled lizards? Would they also have crops/ gizzards and have swallowed small bits of gravel to help predigest their food? Given the Dinosaurs’ long evolutionary tenure and vast diversity I imagine their plumages were as colorful as any of the beautiful avian species we love today. They would have had technicolor vision. Would they have laid eggs once per Earth day as many birds do until they had a clutch? Would they have laid eggs all year round like pigeons and doves? So many things to ponder.
Do you have chickens? Tell me what you love about them!