My first experience with “fowl” language started many years ago when I met an old codger named T. Brady who introduced me to his game flock. A reincarnation of Dale Gribble from the animated sitcom, King of the Hill, T. would mumble and cluck when he talked to them, which I found surprisingly soothing.
Just a reminder that this is how it all began.
I know I haven't written any blogs in awhile, but you already know my whole life from my past blogs, and nothing new has been happening, other than my cruises to Alaska and Nova Scotia. At that, I was very sick returning from Nova Scotia, so I don't really have good memories about it. Then… Continue reading The Past Comes Back to Bless Me
Once upon a time, there was a Chicken Big, named Mildred. She was a British-born, yellow, Buff Orpington, who was so large she could hardly fit through the door of the hen house. Mildred wasn't fat, really; she was just way oversized. Her owners had to build another room onto the hen house and a… Continue reading Chicken Big
In a small, South Dakota chick yard, outside the little town of Elk Point, lived an Australorp cousin of Re-Say Renee by the name of Sashay. The falls and winters in South Dakota are especially cold, since the state is that far north. Sashay was never warm enough in the wintertime, even while fluffing out… Continue reading The Little Black Hen
"Hello, all my chicken fans out there. My name is Henrietta, and I'm not nearly as neurotic as my cousin, Henny Penny. For instance, Ii know the difference between an acorn and the sky falling." Henrietta leaned her wing against a big oak tree. "Problem is, no one in my family pays me any mind.… Continue reading Henrietta
Although my new book has the chickens still living on the farm, about two months later, not all seven student characters will go on most of the new adventures in book two. As a result, I'm giving Chase and Chuck a little time in this blog to tell you where they would want to be… Continue reading Chase and Chuck
For my grandmother when I was in my twenties: Age-worn white hair, tired dark eyes, and A mute mouth drawn in concentration, She rocks and she stitches. Her needles clink As they kiss through the yarn, Her hands expertly guiding, Her head rhythmically nodding. I watch folds of talent Slide from knee to floor, And… Continue reading Waxing Poetic
Re-Say learned from a friend of Mr. Chanticleer where Ms. Goldspeak was. When she visited her teacher she learned Ms. Goldspeak would be willing to give back Sean's phone for his helping to save Jayne's life if each of her students wrote a poem: either a Shakespearean sonnet, an Ode, a Haiku, or a Limerick,… Continue reading Chicken Pomes
Ms. Goldspeak had a few years to help each fowl improve his or her language skills before Peggy gave up the farm in 2012. The following letters demonstrate who improved greatly and who, not so much. Dear Chase, Ever since Peggy sold the farm, and we were thrown to the four winds, I've been hiding… Continue reading Escape From All-the Traps
Peggy Marceaux 