When I got home from work today, Piggy (more properly Suley) was in the yard with Mark, and we went through our little greeting ritual. I scootch down to talk to him, in an admittedly cutesy, gushy voice that Mark complained bitterly about until he started doing his own version of it too (we both sing little songs made up on the spot to this rooster).
|Piggy doesn't mind the gushiness. The rising and falling cadence seems to spur him to passion. I am his numero uno hen. First he turns away to pick at the ground with an "aw shucks" posture, scratching with one toe and pecking unconcernedly. Then when I get him all worked up with my "alluring" voice, I am rewarded with the rooster dance, butting his fat breast right up against me. Then he does the other side, elbows out, fluffed up and woolly. Then he dances in with his head stretched straight up like, "wanna make something of it??" and I grab him and snuggle him all over, kiss his fat back and pet his wattles. Blow steam in his head poof. And then.... he is mine. He will follow me anywhere I go. He is my rooster for the evening. When I start to eat tuna and noodles, an unholy squealing is heard from the back of the couch. This is a message for me, "I see you have noodles." If Mark appears with something tempting, like meat, or Ramen noodles, he will snuggle up to his neck and peer deeply into his eye, warbling most beseechingly.|
Yes, his loyalty is to his food. But his affection for both of us does not bear questioning. When he climbs in the bed in the morning, he'll crow on Mark, crow on me, or often, snuggle directly between us for maximum flock contact. He is such a good roosterboy... His person and his personality are perfect in every way. He knows how we feel about him... I can tell.
Cindy, chicken weirdo (I put up pieces of masking tape in the bathroom and on them create feather "sculptures" using Piggy's feathers and also those of wild birds sometimes)
Well I was at work all day yesterday and Mark was home sick in bed all day. He said that Piggy sat beside him and gently combed his hair for him all the long day, till it was sundown and time for Piggy to go to bed.
Now it is morning, Mark still feels bad and is in bed, and that little roo is snuggled right behind his head, gently grooming his hair.
I don't know for sure how old Suley is; I keep meaning to write to the people I bought him from and ask! He's sweet as pie still, but... well, let's just say I think his feelings for me are somewhat inappropriate given our differing species designations!
I must also report that Suley was following me this morning as I went outside, but I closed the door before he got out because we were about to leave and I didn't want to have to round him up and Mark, who was in the kitchen, said Suley had a total tantrum when he got to that closed door! All I heard was some squawking and Mark saying, "Okay, Piggy, okay, okay" and the door open and Piggy come barreling out. Mark used the s word... "spoiled". heh heh heh...
I have a Piggy story from just this second. There's been this big one-eyed cat hanging around, real friendly, probably pregnant (ain't they always?) and finally we broke down and started feeding her. We hadn't let her in the house because, well she hasn't had any shots, and also we weren't sure how she'd treat Piggy... Piggy hasn't gone outside in months because he hates snow and cold weather.
Well this morning I opened the kitchen door to feed the cat and Piggy caught sight of her. He immediately bolted out the door and danced her right off the kitchen steps. But then she made her fatal mistake... she thought that Piggy must be a WILD ANIMAL and if she could only get in the house she'd be safe, so she bolted into the kitchen! Piggy went berserk! This poor cat raced frantically up and down the (large) kitchen with a furious puffed up 3 lb. Silkie roo clamped onto her butt, finally tore out the door and across the yard to the barn while Piggy did a gleeful hysterical dance of victory all over the kitchen steps with a big tuft of cat fur in his beak.
There is no question in anyones mind who is the man of this house. Piggy is still all dancing and full of himself.
Cindy in Maine, who feels safe from all intruders
It's true. I was cooking up a goodly pot of sugar water yesterday, and I just plumb forgot about it. I was puttering at the computer, my faithful rooster by my side (how I love that little roo!), when suddenly he began to make a churring sound, cocking his head and being most insistent. I generally try to see what he sees, usually a bird outside the window or something of the sort. This time I couldn't see what he was looking at but it was really disturbing him because he kept churrrrrring louder than ever and cocking his head higher and higher, till I figured out what was disturbing him - SMOKE!
The sugar had turned to smoking frothing roiling magma, about to burst into flames and kill us all. Piggy was just like Lassie! I ran to take the pot out the door, smoke streaming behind me, and just fizzed it lightly with the hose, and it steamed all the water I put on it off, even as I added more and more, but finally I sprayed enough that it made a hot steamy foam that filled the large pot. I poured out the dark brown water and what was left was a 3-dimensional lacework of black spun sugar. I ran my fingers over it wonderingly and cut the s**t out of two of them; you know burnt sugar is really really sharp, like glass??
But anyhow. I credit Piggy with saving me, the cats, the fish, the iguana, and everything Mark and I own in this world, as well as a 200-year old house and barn with almost 200 years worth of accumulated junk (priceless!). And most important, with saving his dear little fluffy self! No one ever had a better rooster.
I say this in spite of the fact that he jumped in the bed this morning, where Mark and I were sleeping peacefully, found a toe of mine sticking out from under the sheet, (second from the pinky a long one on my eccentric feet) and seized it with such gusto that my screams woke up the household and Piggy flew flapping several feet across the bed. In spite of this cruel behavior, he is still my beloved Bunnyboy. And now... my Hero.
I want to get him a medallion on a striped ribbon, and have it presented in a ceremony. It's what he deserves. Course, he'll try to make the medallion his hen, but what can you do...
First I must relate that as I was taking a bath the other day Piggy was hanging out in the bathroom (he always stays near) and found a plant pot full of dirt and dead grass (used to be a lily of the valley) and started picking at it. He was picking harder and harder, starting to scratch the ground and getting a bit worked up. By the time I got out of the tub he had started to throw beakfulls of dirt and dead grass onto the tiles, and making himself a little dirt bath.
When I came back in a half hour later, he had completely upended the pot and strewn the whole potful of soil and grass around him in an area about 4'x4' (we have a big bathroom) and was in the throes of a total dirt bath, thrashing and curling up on his back like a grub with his toes kicking at his chin, then getting on his belly and swimming like an epileptic duck, scooting across the dirt covered tiles at great speeds. He kept this up for about 3 hours. I was so impressed at what an amazing mess such a small chicken could create that I proudly left it all in place for Mark and Paul to admire when they got home. Ah, Piggypiggypiggypiggy....