Yes, they do. And big ones, I might add. Big, crazy ones with roller skates. Except last night after I took the roller skates off of the person in the DeGrazia painting (that I was supposed to be dusting for a friend I am currently avoiding in waking life) and put them down behind the fireplace they turned into a pink skateboard that started rolling real fast and I had to trap it in there. Why does that always happen to me?
Which brings me to my next question:
Do chickens dust? Because even though I dreamed it in the pomegranate, apple tree, pear-tree-that-my-sister-planted-are-we-drinking-contaminated-water portion of the dream, I just really and truly hate to dust and don't wish to do it anymore and figure that if I ask you if chickens dust and you give me a biological reason why they do not, then I can stop. Oooooh, hey, I learned something important about the migrating habits of Canadian geese yesterday. This one guy (who I never met before but who I absolutely trusted right away because he fed me fresh seafood) said you know when they're (the geese not the seafood) flying in a "V" formation, heading north, and one side of the "V," one 'leg' of it (he said, but I would call it an 'arm') is longer than the other and do you know why that is? And I said "no," or "uh-uh," (which also means "no" in the English language) and he said, "Because there are more ducks on that side," although really, in all honesty, he probably did say "geese" since that is what he was talking about in the first place, and I probably just remember it as "ducks" because I was jealous of his knowledge and wit. Which is why I stole his joke.
I put this out to you now, my fine, feathered, and plucky friends, so that next time you come across an avian biologist, or wait, no, let's make that any biologist, who has spent many years hard at work in school studying everything they can to make the grade and learn about this our fantastic world where brilliantly plumaged, winged creatures fly and soar way up high above the land (wish I could fly, I, a mere chicken), well, you can just pull this one out of your party hat and dazzle them with your, um, brilliance.***** That's right. Go ahead. Do it. Just don't tell 'em I said to. Say that, um, my sister told you to. Why? No reason. Just do it, see what happens.
Love*,
Your Very Big C
PS-I quit dusting ages ago. Because Big Tough Strong Mean Chickens, such as myself, do not dust. Ever. Unless there are chicks coming over.
*No tricks today where Love is concerned, ladies and wheat germs. It's all serious. Very, very serious. Except it can't be, because I am a human person who would like nothing better than to dress up in a chicken suit (an attractive one, mind you) and roller skate all around this our great land, even though it apparently shocked that one nice mid-western lady who taught me how to play the card game "_______" the other night which, incidentally, is a very fun game even if you don't win, although I'm sure that it would feel even better if you did. If I did. Win, I mean. Because after all, isn't that what this is all about? This whole life business. Win, win, win. Oh, look at that - I won. I just won something! In your face, you loser! I just won. That makes you a loser. Ha ha ha. Loser. Oh, hey, can you give me a ride home? I'm out of gas money. Thanks. I owe you one. Loser.
*****You should trust the Big Chicken on this one because, as everyone knows, people love nothing more than when someone insults not only their level of intelligence, but also their level of education. How do I know this, you might ask.** Because I do it all the time.
**What I don't know how to do is to properly punctuate a sentence like this one referenced with Today's Double Asterisk-esses (above).**** Could someone look that one up for me, please? For free, of course. And get back to me on that by, say, oh, 'bout 2. Maybe three. Thx. (But 4 at the absolute latest because I am tired of Playing Chicken and want to go home now. Plus, I have a hot date with "_______" tonight, so I want to go daydream about that. Perhaps tomorrow I will be not only your daily feathered friend, but also a Chickey with a Hickey. *+ Oh, Big Chicken, I know you didn't. Oh yes, I did.
*+ I need someone to not only look up the spelling of the word "hickey," but also the mechanics behind the phenomenon as well as any related patterns of distribution across North America, type it all up, include a table of contents and bibliography, all properly capitalized, mind you, bind it electronically, seal it with a kiss (aka SWAK) and get that on over here to me by noon. Chop-chop, you're wasting time here and I'm a control freak, so you'd better get moving because I haven't got all day.
**** Regarding Multiple Asterisk-Esses
I have decided to fore-go your usual butt-kicking, total field domination/humiliation as far as footnotes go today, seeing as how it's Monday. Tell you what, come on back here tomorrow, see if I can't whip something up for you. Like some nice hot scrambled eggs, which reminds me, have you had your breakfast? Well, what are you waiting for? We live in a land of plenty (although you may want to consider brushing up on a new language or two, but especially Chinese, and that's a word to the wise here from my new friend J_____, whose real name is K_______, from Thailand who is pursuing courses related to business management with a focus on international marketing and which I think is just really good advice and hope that some or all or both of you, dear readers, might consider trying to learn a new language with me) you should go eat some food. Just not too much. Save some for your pal Chickey, who will soon, very soon, be skating all across this Our Great Land, to have some breakfast with you. All of you. All both of you. Hey, you! Get away from me with that fork.
Monitoring Bird Populations Using Mist Nets (Studies in Avian Biology)
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