Giant Chickens Across the Globe

This week, the muse was speaking to me in strange ways. I painted six paintings of a giant, fire-breathing Rooster, traveling the world. 

I was sick. I get sort of air headed when I’m sick. I think this rooster wants me to tell his story. 

So, why did not the Giant, Fire Breathing Rooster burn down the Eiffel Tower? No one knows. Perhaps he appreciated its beauty. Perhaps he had a sore throat. Perhaps he knew that, being made of metal, it wouldn’t burn.

Why? I don’t know. Maybe the bridge was in his way? It’s difficult to say why a giant, fire breathing rooster does what he does.

I don’t know why the Giant, Flame Breathing Rooster burned the Hollywood sign to the ground. It was just in his nature, I guess.

Overcome with the beauty of nature, the Giant, Fire-Breathing Rooster chooses not to destroy it.

The Giant, Flame Breathing Rooster took a ship across the ocean.

What did the Giant, Flame-Breathing Rooster have against the Sydney Opera House? Nothing. It was simply in his nature to burn it down. It was nothing personal.

The Valentine Receptical 

Fourth grade. This is the box where the other kids will put her Valentines. Valentines are a big deal, apparently. Zanimal said, “I want to win the contest. I mean, there isn’t a contest, but I want it to be like if there were a contest, I would be the one to win it, you know?” 

And then she made us this: 

And now our table looks like this:

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Whose feet are in your trash?

This is not a post for vegetarians. 

We took a few rams to the butcher on Tuesday. (Tuesday is their “exotic animal”day— but I disagree that sheep are exotic.) Zanimal (formerly Big Z, and before that Little Z) said we shouldn’t tell them where we were going. “Just tell them they’re going to Spanish lessons!” She said. So, we did. And now “Spanish lessons” will forever be a euphemism for “getting butchered” in our house.

After we dropped them off, I went home and cleaned out the freezer to make room for lamb meat. There were dozens of chicken feet in the freezer, which I had heard once were edible, but I decided that really, I’m not eating a chicken foot unless I’m starving to death! So I threw all of the chicken feet into the trash, and then there was plenty of room for lamb. 
Then, I went back to the butcher and picked up the pelts from the sheep. We usually cure them, have them tanned, and make beautiful sheepskin throws out of them. As I was stretching them to dry them out, I noticed something really weird. Whoever butchered them had left the bony front legs on the pelts, and the hoofs. I prefer my blankets to be hoof and bone free, so I cut off the bony, furry lamb legs, hoofs and all. I threw the sheep legs and feet into the trash with all of the chicken feet.

And then I thought, man, do I have some funky weird trash.

How many feet are in your trash?