Yep. That's right. I'm finished feeling sorry for myself. Because of a chicken. Let me start by explaining something. They way I feel about chickens. I'm not a fan. They have beady little orange eyes. That weird red rubbery skin. Icky butts. Scaly feet. And they're mean. I once went into the pen to feed them, and one pecked through my jeans. And drew blood. She actually drew blood and bruised me through my friggin jeans. Bitches.
But the other day, I decided to roll out some clay in my studio. I had to unload my kiln first, and was too lazy to walk to the barn. So I drove. And this chicken comes running across the field like a fat woman with no hands in a petticoat. She's chasing the car. I open the door, and the turns her beady little orange eyes up at me and squats on the ground.
I know this chicken. She's Juni's chicken. He calls her Sweetie Pie. He carries her around, she jumps on the ATV, follows him around. I'm not afraid of her, but she still freaks me out. Until that day. She squatted, and I decided to pet her. I don't know why. They say having a pet helps anxiety. Well, not when you have a dog that smells like pond scum, an 18-year-old cat that bites and another dog that's scared of her own tail. So I pet the chicken and walked into the kiln room (aka the old hog barn).
And she followed me. Wanting to be pet. I made three trips to and from the kiln to my car, Sweetie Pie in tow. And then I rolled out some clay in my studio.
I heard squawking. Either from laying an egg or the dog chasing one of the little devils, so I ignored it. But the chicken never shut up. I open the door, and there she is. Staring at me. Waiting to come in. So I let her in. And she jumped on everything, and shit on the floor, and talked the whole time.
And I talked back. We stayed in the studio for hours. I don't remember the last time I lost track of time. By the time Sweetie Pie and I were done talking, it was time to get Juni off the bus. And I realized ... I'd only taken two Xanax that day. That's a big deal for me. And it was all because of a stupid, crazy-eyed, ugly-footed bird.
Sweetie Pie is now my pottery buddy. I kick the dog out and let the chicken in. She tries to jump on the desk and I swat her away. She squats for a quick pet. She pecks at the radio. And we talk. Who knows what she's rambling on about. Probably something about how her two sisters are bitches. And I know she has no clue what I'm saying. But we get each other, in this weird, crazy person and crazy chicken way.
Inspiration for posts come far and few between now that I don't have manic episodes. But given my life, it makes sense that a chicken, Sweetie Pie, would be the one to break the writer's block. At least for today. Which is something. It's a reason to stop the pity party. Damn it ... I love that stupid nasty-assed chicken.
Now we're going to have you call you the crazy chicken lady! Maybe she will inspire a new line of pottery.
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