While taking over 570 chicken photos last Monday, I caught the following startling scene on ... well, not film. On digital card, I guess. Which sounds less romantic.
Infinitely less romantic, in fact, than the Love Song of a Rooster, in the key of Beaker.
Our story unfolds thusly...
Across the grass, Beaker spies the alluring Henrietta. Keen to exercise his conjugal, if polygamous, privileges, Beaker approaches his prey, I mean, woman, while doing a little rooster dance.
Henrietta looks suitably alarmed.
Not exactly the master of subtlety, Beaker rushes in like the mad feathered bull that he is. Henrietta squawks and flaps but is unable to achieve lift-off, and so chooses to run. Poor Henrietta is never receptive to the charms of Beaker!
"You men! Don't you ever get enough?!"
"Henrietta, that's a rhetorical question, right?"
There is nothing graceful about a running chicken. I'm sure I could turn that into some kind of life metaphor were I not about to tuck into our Friday night pizza and beer...
"Henrietta, where are you going? No matter how far you run, no matter where you hide, I WILL find you and mount you when you least expect it. I know you'll slap me to the ground and beat me afterwards, but it will be worth it because I. am. ROOSTER!!!!!!"
It's hard to imagine how the hens can resist such a luscious specimen of chickenhood! But sometimes, they do.
And now for something completely different. Today was Gordon's last day as a civil servant. Now he's starting a new chapter in his life, as a lawyer in private practice. I made him his favourite pizza-from-scratch as a reward. Hope you all have a great weekend!