When John Became Jane

The chicks have grown into small chickens. And, well, what we thought were newly-developing rooster noises were really just your average chicken noises.

And John Proctor's spur was actually his extra toe, Silkie Bantams having an extra toe and all. (Interesting side-note: Silkie Bantams have blue feet, bones, and skin. Ours has a delicate blue face and crazy blue feet).

And what we thought was growing into a giant rooster forehead was actually a giant Silkie Bantam Afro.  

And what we thought was John's protective rooster nature was actually a Silkie Bantam's inherently gentle and caring nature:

"Silkie Bantams are a fantastic breed for individuals who enjoy birds that are docile [and] good with children. They make excellent mothers."

Silkie Bantams, called "the lap cat of the chicken world," are darling creatures. And Ian and I had no idea what we were dealing with, so we stupidly called John a rooster.

Well, John's a girl. We now call her Janathan or Jane or Janie. Her full name is now Janathan Fuzzy Proctor. We have 100 percent girl chickens.

It's a huge relief because after dealing with Jessup Hush'up, we worried that Jane would grow into a crowing nightmare and we'd have to get rid of her. And neither of us wanted to get rid of her.

If it had come to that, we'd have given her to my parents who live deeper in the country and could get away with a crowing rooster.

Fortunately, our Janie is a girl. She's the smartest of the chickens by far.

Ian will pull off old tree bark and give the grubs to the chickens, who gobble grubs the way I gobble chocolate pie. Jane's the only one with the smarts to go to the bark itself and pull off the grubs directly.

She's also the only one who runs straight into the hen-house when a loud noise or movement spooks the chickens. She runs directly to safety, while the others run in ridiculous, flapping circles.

The Sad Finale of Maybelle 

Then there's Maybelle. Poor, poor Maybelle. Maybelle was one of the four chickens we acquired a couple of weeks ago.

One night last week, Ian slept fitfully.

He kept thinking he heard the distant sound of chicken screams but decided he was suffering from your average poultry-induced anxiety.

At the crack of dawn he headed outside and found that a fox or raccoon had pulled Maybelle from her cage.

Ian followed a trail of white feathers into the neighbor's yard where he spotted some of Maybelle.

The fox had scurried off with as much of Maybelle as he could carry, for Maybelle was a big, fat chicken.

Maybelle in happier times

Ian woke me up to tell me. As he recounted the story, we both giggled because we're horrible people

Laura: "Did you remove the piece of Maybelle from the neighbor's yard?"

Ian: "No, I left it there."

Laura and Ian: <Giggle manically>

Our original 5 babies are doing well. Janathan is the obvious favorite around here, but my second favorite is Marjorine:

Ian's second favorite chicken varies between Sal and Bernadette:

Sal

Bernadette 

Ian has nicknamed Bernadette "Goldie," while I've been trying to enforce the nickname "Birdie."

Hester Prynne is our quietest chicken. She hangs back during playtime in the yard. She sits quietly and watches the others run in circles and flap their wings:

A reflective Hester 

Spottswood plans to knit Hester a sweater with a scarlet letter "A" embroidered on it. 

Neither Ian nor I attempt to hide our favoritism towards Jane. I coo, "I love you, Janathan!" every time I pass the hen-house. 

The blatant favoritism has probably traumatized the others so we're arranging intensive therapy for Sal, Bernadette, Marjorine, and Hester.

And we're arranging some modeling gigs for this sexy thing:

Chattanoogan Honeymoon

Ian and I journeyed to Chattanooga over the Memorial Day weekend. I called it a honeymoon in the title, but truthfully I feel like we've spent the past month honeymooning.

We walked all over downtown Chattanooga, including the Market Street bridge.

The sun blazed fiercely, so Ian performed his husbandly duty and sprayed me down with SPF fifty million.

I was on a mission to remain pasty white throughout the trip. I prefer keeping my skin a fine ivory tone because I'm terrified of skin cancer. Terrified.

I decided I needed extra protection for my face and hairline so we stopped in a shop so I could buy a hat. There were a lot to choose from, and I love a good fashion show so...

"Look, I'm Blossom!"

"I'm Gilligan!"

"I'm stoned!"

"I'm Bob Marley!"

"See!"

"I'm Bonnie and Clyde! I'm Clyde!"

"I'M MONICA LEWINSKY!"

After trying on every hat and accidentally bashing some hanging wind-chimes, I left empty-handed. I can't remember why I declined to buy a hat, except I was tired of hats at that point.

Just about every shop in the Market Street area included a dog. I was terribly impressed. Ian was not.

Laura: "We should have brought Winnie!"

Ian: "Gross."

Our hotel had a pool. And you know how much we love pools.

We smuggled rum into the pool, and the children present learned what "inebriated" means.

On Sunday morning, we visited Rock City. 

This was right before the Tyrannosaurus Rex smashed through Rock City and ate the goat.

Laura: "I bet if you drink the water, you'll live forever. Drink the water, Ian!"

Ian: "Okay."

Rock City contains a "Fairyland Caverns." 

You enter a dark cavern, listen to classical music straight out of A Clockwork Orange, and stare at Brothers Grimm characters. The attraction brags that the figurines came directly from Germany. 

It was awesome. 

No. Wait. It was horrifying.

"Don't worry, children. We're merely going to drain your blood and eat your organs."

Humpty Dumpty: classic children's poem character and harbinger of death

Gonna get a bitch.

The Ferris Wheel of Doom

Fairyland Caverns highlighted an important fact: we can't trust the Germans. 

The Germans probably slipped some mind-control devices into the caverns, so if I start blogging about my blood-lust for orphans, be a dear and send help.

After fleeing Fairyland Caverns, we made our way to the top of Rock City, finding a magnificent view.

Laura: "Look! This part of the mountain is called "Lover's Leap." That means you have to leap off to prove your undying love to me... Well. Hop to it."

Ian: "I don't think so."

Rock City features gnomes pretty heavily. Ian tried on a gnome hat.

It appears the German mind-control devices were already getting to him.

Next, we went to the Chattanooga aquarium. We met Toucan Sam and his twin.

The jellyfish were beautiful. 

When I was eight, a jellyfish attacked me while swimming in the ocean. 

My dad carried me back to the hotel, and my mom stuck me in the bathtub and shook a box of meat tenderizer all over me, as instructed by medical professionals. 

I think I finally came to terms with this trauma while photographing the jellyfish. Those sons-a-bitches take no bad photos.

We saw an octopus. I insisted on calling him an octo-pussy because I'm classy.

A snapping turtle

He resembled Spike from The Land Before Time. Same facial expressions, anyways:

In the late afternoon, we headed to Ruby Falls to see the caves and giant waterfall. 

Hey, y'all.

Howdy.

The waterfall in the cave, lit up by neon lights. How authentic!

We wrapped up our trip by traveling to the Crossville tree house, the world's largest tree house. 

I think this thing breaks at least forty-six building codes. Nonetheless, we and many others scampered through it.

I waited for one of us to crash through the tree house at any second, but everything remained intact.

The tree house included baby goats, which made me awfully excited. They stood in their food as they ate. 

Ian painstakingly set up the camera at just the right angle to take this photo. Look for the discreet photo-bomb in the corner.

We had a fantastic trip. Peace out.

The Sad Story of Jessup Hush'up

The Tuesday after we married, Ian brought home three hens and a rooster. His co-worker had a friend who needed to get rid of all four birds, and Ian had agreed to take them.

Being a responsible pet owner, I scurried to prepare for the new birds' arrival:

Laura: "We'll name the hens Maybelle, Caroline, and Polly. And the rooster shall be Jessup."

I knew we had entered troubling times when I pulled into the driveway that evening and immediately heard the ear-piercing sounds of the rooster crowing.

The rooster crowed non-stop. I'm talking every ten seconds. I walked to the backyard and stared at the monstrous chicken:

Laura: "That thing's gotta go."

Ian: "He's been crowing all day. All day. He never stops. I thought he might slow down once he settled in. But he keeps crowing."

Laura: "Jessup's full name is Jessup Hush'up."

We attempted to hush up Jessup by covering his cage and placing him in the barn. Jessup continued to send his crows blaring through the neighborhood.

Ian: "I keep waiting for the neighbors to call the cops. Should we kill him?"

Laura: "We have to. Loud roosters are prohibited. We can't let him crow all night."

Ian: "Are you sure we want to kill him?"

Laura: "We can either slaughter him now, as humanely as possible, or we can wait until two in the morning when I'll stamp outside, all sleep-deprived and pissed off, and kill him in a murderous rage. We should do it now."

Neither of us have a natural inclination to kill chickens. We picked up Jessup and stared at him and tried to work up the nerve to turn him into dinner.

I was too squeamish to watch, so Ian carried out the task. Through the flurry of feathers and chicken blood, I contributed by making encouraging comments:

Laura: "The honeymoon ends so quickly. One minute you're marrying the man of your dreams and the next you're watching him execute a chicken."

After Jessup breathed his last breathe, we stuck the him in boiling water for ten seconds and then plucked the feathers.

I read instructions aloud from Google on how to gut a chicken, but by the time I reached the section entitled, "How to Disembowel Your Chicken: Ten Easy Steps to Removing the Anus," we decided we only wanted the legs.

Ian chopped off the legs and some of the breast and disposed the rest of the carcass in the trash.

Ian: "Keep your voice down. The neighbors will wonder what the hell we're doing."

Laura: "WHAT'S THAT, IAN? YOU WANT TO HIDE THE BODY IN THE BARN?"

Ian seasoned the meat with chili powder and sea salt and stuck it in the oven. After it cooked, he ate the chicken breasts.

Laura: "Is it good? What's it taste like?"

Ian: "It tastes like chicken."

Laura: "Wow!"

Ian: "Aren't you going to eat some?"

Laura: "Gross. No."

The legs were overcooked and dry, so Ian and the dog split up the rest of the chicken meat.

Ian: "Winnie loves this stuff. She's begging for more... She's gonna fart blood tomorrow."

Laura: "There's a chicken demon in your stomach. But you made that entire meal, from start to finish."

Ian: "I don't know whether to feel ashamed or proud. I guess Jessup's in a better place now."

And he was.