I’ve got that one little hen who’s never gonna be allowed to grow her feathers back. But instead of doing this, I’m just gonna eat her.
Claire tried to teach me how to knit while she was here, but I didn’t have the patience for it.
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They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
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What has become of Badass Agnes? You haven’t mentioned her lately. Maybe you could crochet the little sweaters. Crochet goes a lot faster than knitting.
Badass Agnes the Red is still living on a shelf in the Big Chicken House, forbidden (on pain of pain) by the two remaining Brahma cocks to come down for any reason but otherwise left relatively unmolested. I have to feed her separately.
And I’m concerned that when she returns to the Fortress of Attitude she’ll just take up her antics again. Before that happens I’m planning to, ahem, process the little one who’s the object of her attentions. Then we’ll see if the two remaining Rhode Island Reds can get along at all.
Agnes’ fate hung in the balance as I waited (and am still waiting) through this protracted molt to see if the two smallest hens would find some equilibrium. But the littlest hen has a kick-me sign on her back: As soon as I removed Agnes, the next biggest started oppressing her, plucking her bald, and occasionally driving her away from food.
Oh, those sweaters are adorable! Unfortunately, they would not likely keep them on long, even if you had them. My dog won’t leave his sweater on for more than a minute. He lost it in the snow last time he went out with it, so it is now retired to the storage room. He seems to do just fine out there without one. 🙂
And yes, the little hen does not seem to have much in the way of survival genes. Stew is probably a rational fate for her.
You may not have had the patience to knit, Joel. But you were very good at it. Never saw anybody learn so fast and knit (and purl) so evenly right from the start.
A chicken sweater might be a good first project. 😉
Oh please please please let me send you three chicken sweaters and a scarf. My hen,Baldy, is in full plumage and no longer needs them.
Oops a little too much in the name – the chicken sweaters are worth a try if you are willin…..