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| Handsome cardoons are artichoke cousins. Stalks are edible. |
Cardoons are a favorite Christmas present--if you're a chicken. We all live in our own little world. From the human view point, we would say that we see the real world. However, there is a dog world, a cat world, a worm world and a chicken world and a. . . Every sentient being has its own world. In my chickens' world, cardoons are Christmas.
What is Christmas to a chicken anyway? Let's have a go into the chicken world: Feet grip the perch all night. Dark is turning to slate gray to light. Hop down from safety and out into the open. Flap, flap to the fluffy straw below. Thirsty. Shiver as the cold water goes down. Fluff feathers to be warmer. Tuck one foot up into warm belly feathers for a time. Warm foot down, cold foot up. Warm foot down, cold foot up. Gobble some greens on the floor. Swallow, swallow, swallow until the whole leave is down. Eat pellets. Oyster shells--peck them, eat them. Scratch, peck and eat dirt on the floor. Outside the coop, scratch, peck and eat bugs in the dirt.
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| Cardoons for Christmas Eve Dinner |
All this is to say that a day in the life of a chicken is scratching, pecking, eating, preening from light in the morning until dark at night. Rather obviously they don't know Christmas from scratch.
One of the Things I get to do today, this Christmas Eve (their very first), is teach my chickens about Christmas. From their point of view it looked like this: Dark things falling down on top of them. RUN! Big greens on the ground. ???? Quickly but cautiously inspecting the greens that fell out of the sky. Food? Peck, peck, peck. Food!
So you might say that the hens don't and won't ever get it about Christmas. But if it's about the spirit of giving, then maybe they know more than we think. One of them left this for me yesterday.
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| Very first egg from any of these chickens--maybe from Latifah. |
yippee! hope you had a nice omlette or a scrambled egg. one of the things that is a bit of a drawback from Robbie: doesn't leave food gifts. as a matter of fact, yesterday, while saying good by to company, i wondered why he wasn't at the door, looking at them with great intensity. ah, all was revealed when i came into the house: he came around the corner/door, licking his chops. oh oh. i said, no more cheese. and i was right -- he ate the cheese, but didn't leave me a rind, or enough for a small cracker or the hint of a cheesy smell -- unless you call his breath a "hint of cheesy smell!"
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