The Weather & Chicken Update.

All the shiny-leaved trees, like the magnolia outside the gate, are glowing in the light; this morning suggests stunning days to come and promises that winter's expiration date is well in sight. It's the kind of weather just made for walking a Weimaraner, with a few scudding clouds and just enough of a wind to raise the pulse. On the gallus gallus front, life continues, but our feathered friend has reached the awkward stage. She's still small, fitting easily and happily on my shoulder even as I type this, but her down is being replaced by incipient pin feathers and outright bald bits. She'll be embarassed that I posted these photos, no doubt.The Weimaraner, lover of walks and radiators, has remained just as adoringly fascinated as ever in the smallest movements of his fluffy housemate. I keep busy ensuring that the chicken doesn't suffer a dog-imposed fate similar to that of Mike, the headless miracle.

Trivia-loving Americans may remember the story of the plucky (ah, forgive me) little fellow who was destined for the pot but instead found himself touring the US to sell-out audiences, after undergoing scientific scrutiny and authentification. Mike the headless chicken survived for 18 months thanks to a well-timed blood clot. That and the fact that the axe-wielder, one Lloyd Olsen, missed the jugular vein, just enough of the brain stem and one ear. Mike has his own Wikipedia entry as well as his own day upon which he is annually feted by his hometown of Fruita, Colorado (if you want to join in as well, find the exciting details at http://www.miketheheadlesschicken.org/, which also shared the photo of Mike with his head by his feet, below).

How do I segue into my favorite sage and chicken liver pate recipe? Perhaps that belongs in another entry. Postscript: animal rights groups insisted on regular visits with Mike, but Mike gained an additional 6 pounds after losing his head and continued to behave the ways chickens with heads do, so whatever protest remained fell on deaf ears.