<font color=blue>What's the pet chicken's name.</font color=blue>
That's Dubya.
I have seven roosters and six hens. They are more fun than if I had monkeys.
I've seen five mice in their grips for dinner over the last week. They are heck on the local grasshopper population.
Yesterday we had a floater roll in for about ten minutes. Scrapper, a red rooster, came over to stand by me. I picked him up and was consoling him about the weather. My bro in law who was down this week to help out a bit went into a fit of head shaking one oh one.
He was spurred pretty good when he was about three years old. Never has really appreciated roosters ever since. And here he is down at my shop where Scrapper will block my way and just about demand to be picked up and have his chest rubbed. I've got three of the roosters who will crow for pretzels. They've got me trained pretty well for an old man.
I've got one hen who will come around when we're taking a break and hop up on my lap to help out with the sandwiching. She's quite good. But gawd, I'll never understand why she always has to carry on so after each purloined bite. She'll sit there and grab a bite and then talk about it. If it was a rooster I'd call it Hemmingway or Carlin depending on the age of the person I'm talking to.
Another hen named Stubby is also a talker. She likes to just hang out close and pitter patter and this and that. I'd accuse her of being a gossiper but then the others might find out.
But Scrapper is the frosting on the cake. I was at the welding jig the other morning and here he came with a big grasshopper. He dropped it there between us and did a little dance and talked about the hopper. I guess he was maybe a bass fisherman in a previous trip around the world.
I tried to ignore him but he'd brought a snack for me.
No, I didn't eat it. But I acted like I was going to and that satisfied him. Like I said, I suspect he was a bass fisherman in a previous life here.
He likes to hang out close. And if I have company he's a nosey bugger bear. He'll come up and crow. I explain what he's saying is "pretzel" in cockatese. That usually makes the company nervous. But not near as nervous as when he comes up and stands there as I rub his chest and tell him how smart he is. I've heard telling them they're pretty will make them change.
Dubya? According to one bud whose dad raised show chickens he's that kind of quality. Prettier than a bug in a rug by just about any standard.
But he's an absolute coward. I'll toss him a pretzel and any one of the other birds can head for it and he'll run pretzeless. Hence his name.