#bird breeding

[makenna-made-this]

Okkkkkk so where is Chicken Miku?

Anon the way i dropped everything when i saw this

HATSUNE BEAK-U

(based on the Onagadori chicken breed)

[bunnis-monsters]

i need more abt peacock hybrids I LOVE HIMM

He’s been hanging around your bakery nearly every day since you rejected him, his tail feathers flicking and wanting to present themselves to you… but he stops himself.

He waits, watching you as you serve customers and go about your day. You’re kind, always giving even the nastiest of people a warm smile when you hang them their order.

And now he’s wondering how many of the smiles you have him were fake. Could he blame you? After all, he had been such an asshole, always taking up your time and being demanding…

It was clear you are way out of his league, but still he wants you desperately.

So he continues taking note of every little thing, from the way your eyes light up when you bite into a free donut after a long day, or how you laugh at your stupid male coworker he hates…

He’s in love with you, that’s for certain… but how will he ever win you over when he’s made such a fool of himself? It would have been so easy to just present his feathers in front of a fertile female, but no, he had to fall in love with you…

The peacock hybrid sits outside of the bakery, sulking as he stares at the ground. Perhaps he’d never get to have you. It wasn’t fair to wait around and bother you forever, so he got up and was ready to leave when you walked out the door.

“You’re still out here sulking?”

You walk out, carrying a brown paper bag. He looks up in surprise when you drop the bag in his lap.

“Here…”

You look away, your face slightly warm as you begin walking home. “It’s on the house…”

He stares at the small paper bag in his hand, his eyes wide. Was this… a courting gift?

His feathers flicked as he stood, his mind in a daze as he followed after you.

Maybe he had a chance after all…

It wasn’t long before he walked you home every day after work, acting as a protective mate would when anyone approached. He’d shake his feathers out in a defensive display, keeping you safe.

The best day of his life was when you finally invited him in your home and he got to mate you for the first time…

It was a cold evening, and he had been waiting outside for an hour, ready to walk you home. When you saw him shivering, you knew that he had changed.

Though he could still be selfish and arrogant, it was clear he truly cared for you.

“You’re cold, aren’t you? Come on, I’ll make you something warm.”

But it seemed he didn’t want to eat anything you could make him. No, the second he was in your house you were lifted up onto the nearest surface and your thighs were pried apart. He couldn’t stand it, he needed to taste you…

Your pussy was so plump and warm, the taste almost sweet. He looked up at you with eyes dazed from lust, his tongue fucking into your dripping cunt.

He loved you, wanted to prove he was a proper mate, so he made sure to bring you to several orgasm before he even fathomed pushing his cock into you.

The tip was oozing precum, rubbing against your hole as his feathers shook out. They really were pretty, and his cock stretched you out as he pushed in.

His feathers were soft, and you held onto them as he mated with you, his face burying itself into your neck. This is what he had wanted for so long…

After shooting thick ropes of cum inside of you, he carried you away and made you a comfy nest of blanket and pillows before using his feathers as a cover for you.

“I love you… please, be my mate…”

You yawned, a smile on your face. He looked vulnerable, his plumage puffing out slightly in anticipation.

“Okay…”

His eyes lit up, but he yelped when you plucked one of his feathers. “I’ll take this as my wedding ring…”

And the next day he couldn’t be prouder, seeing you with his feather pinned to your apron.

Want more of this guy? Commission me :3

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[kedreeva]

This bird was recently posted by a breeder who is saying it's a new color mutation, and that the feathers are actually like this- the bird is not wet, it just looks like crap because the feathers are weak/soft (lacking keratin). He seems pretty intent on breeding more of it, as well, which imo is putting profit over animal welfare.

Hopefully enough other peafowl folks (or heck, regular folks, you're welcome to say something if you can be POLITE) will speak gently to him about it before it gets that far, and help him to reconsider. I've already expressed my own concerns to him. At least if he goes through with it, he'll be doing so well aware that he shouldn't be doing it. But I'm really, really hoping he reconsiders.

[jadafitch]

Petit Manan Lighthouse, Petit Manan Island, Steuben. Possibly my favorite lighthouse. In the summer, this island is home to hundreds of birds. Including Atlantic puffins, arctic, common and roseate terns, as well as black guillemots and many more. Decided I couldn't draw them all, but here's a couple attempts to try and capture the island's vibes. Can you spot the oystercatchers? MERCH

[platypu]

yeah facebook is terrible but sometimes you stumble across pure gold. there are dream animals i want to see in the wild and there will be posts like

ma'am that is the critically endangered regent honeyeater. There are less than 300 of them left in the wild

[emberhope-fr]

so i had a thought after buying a dragon from a friend

bruce the parrotlet and his "eating dome"

[livecrow]

Gundog!Soap's errand gets derailed when he catches your scent.

A retriever "retrieves" a plump bird.

Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader

(cw: kidnapping)

Soap’s popping down to the shops.

He just needs to pick up an ingredient for dinner last minute. Ghost isn’t home yet, so he’s off the lead. Unsupervised. Normally, they’d get the messages together, but he only needs one thing. He could manage it. It wouldn’t be more than a wink.

But as he mills about, he can’t help feeling off.

Like he really is a dumb dog wandering around without his owner, his lead might as well be dragging on the floor behind him, collecting lint and stray bread ties—

It’s turning into one of those days where he feels far more mutt than man. 

Without Ghost’s firm hand grounding him, the place is a cacophony of input. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many colors, too much movement—all melding together into a murky emulsion of stimulus under the glaring LEDs. 

He squints down the vast row of isles for longer than he’ll admit.

Eeigit.

He should have written a note.

Thought he could have remembered one bleedy thing. You dinnae need a list for one thing—

Feeling frustrated and dafty, he resigns himself to traipsing down each aisle and hoping something jogs his memory. Pride wouldn’t let him call up Lt. He’d never hear the end of it. He’s a birddog for chrissake, proper braw at findin’ things—when he knows what he’s fuckin’ looking for. 

Least he can skip the sundries. He knows that much. Soap’s more than happy to avoid the detergent aisle. Stuff is bowfin. Stings his nose, makes his heid ache.

Lot of good his heid was anyway, feeling fuzzy, like it was packed with cotton. Might as well be. Nothin’ else between his ears. Certainly not the one fuckin' thing he pulled on his gutties and left the house for—

He let's loose an irritated huff and it's probably a bit too close to a growl than is wise.

Soap's trying to make good time, but he's a solid four isles in and hasn't had any luck. Eventually, he finds himself staring down a sea of tins. Fruit and veg, beans, and the sort. His eyes scanned the labels, but even readin' was a real Herculean task when he's feeling so out of sorts.

The canine part of him can't be convinced deciphering rows of little lines and squiggles is a proper use of his time. Especially when he could be usin' his nose instead.

Some wee bairn has starts greetin’ a few aise down.

—Green beans, peas, sliced carrots, corn, diced potatoes. Nae, that wasn't it—

....who in their right mind buys tinned tatties?

A passing trolley is making an awful racket. Discordant shrill squeaks and clunks of a stuck wheel scraped against his ear drums.

—It’s definitely not the asparagus—shites mingin’, and that’s fresh. Wouldnae faff about with a recipe that called for that. Cannae think how foul tinned would be… 

Soap sighs in exasperation. As he goes to abandon this aisle, he steps back to turn and bumps into something.

Soft. Soft, soft, softness presses into his hip—

The kind of softness that cradles, that molds around him. Softer than any of his toys. Soft an’ cozy as his own bed, maybe—nae, softer. His bed didn't have the same give, the same wobble. It was a softness that sent a literal shiver up his spine, saliva pooling in his mouth. That smell—

Not something, someone then.

An incidental collision, a bird had been trying to slip by him just as he stepped backwards.

The touch was there and gone in a second but he was mournful for its absence. The scent lingered at least, soothed the whine that crawled into his throat. There was no artifice to it, no acrid chemical edges that came with any fragrance found in a bottle.

You had actually managed to catch him off guard. The shiver that rattled through him began with a slight jolt of surprise at the two of your union. He must have been more out of it than he thought, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the aisle. He'll never get used to being startled, but he wouldn’t hold that against you.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered apologetically as you stepped back, embarrassment coloring your face. The contact clearly ruffled your feathers a bit.

Soap’s mouth shuts with an audible click, he hadn’t realized his lips were parted. He hurriedly swallows a completely unadvisable pant in your direction.

“Nae bother, hen,” he blinks. Finally finding his human voice, responding like he's supposed to when he's out and about on two legs. It’s a little breathier, a beat later than he should have responded, lower too. There's a rasp there that chafes the very air. 

...Maybe his head wasn't packed with cotton.

Maybe it was your soft, downy feathers that was muddling him up, making itself a sweet little nest in his cranium—

The bird sends him a polite, restrained smile as it scurries off.

His world narrowed, like he was watching through a spyglass. Or was it a scope? Regardless, everything else but you dissolved into blur, even his peripheral was swallowed up. Framed you in a vignette. Every tiny aspect of the minute interaction seared painlessly into his mind.

A pretty, fat partridge.

Wandering too close.

Game like that, ambling by all round and plump, right under his snout? Feathers close enough they almost tickle his nose—

It's instinct, ya ken?

Mind, for a dog that retrieves quarry, it’s in his nature. Cannae help it anymore than the shade of his coat. So, is it the dog's fault then, when he lunges? Snatches the bird up, into his warm mouth? Firm and soft all at once. The delicate control from a pup that can cradle a raw egg without fracturing the shell. When he brings it back to his master, tail waggin’ as he’s done a hundred other times?

Nae. Noone’d blame him.

He can already practically feel the pantomime thumping of your frantic heartbeat in his mouth—echoing his own excited pulse. 

Soap’s keen eyes never left his prey, even as your back was foolishly to him. His hind paws were already ahead of his brain, he followed, trailing at a distance. Stalking.

Thing should know better, he might have been a wolf. You’d have waddled straight into it's gaping maw, mistake the canines for stalactites and his tongue for a cozy spot to lay your little head.

But no, he’s no wolf. He’s safe. Won't take a bite out of you. He's a good boy— 

Good dog.

Bird dog. A Gordon Setter, Si says.

A jack of all trades, proficient at tracking, pointing, and retrieving. A soft-mouth breed. That’s very important. Most dogs cannae do what he can. Pick up a bird without pricking it. Ghost has been working with him, trainin’ him up. Helping him be more patient, learn new tricks.

Your scent—it was so hard to describe, but he luxuriated in it, nose twitching. It was warm, but not torrid. Sweet, but not cloying. Rich, but not heavy—

Familiar, somehow. Like a childhood lovey. Cheek-worn and supple as a lamb's ear. 

He’s struck by a piercing déjà vu.

It should have confounded Soap—but it didn’t. It just was. The strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that shouldn’t normally coexist. He didn’t know you, nae. But it felt like he should. Maybe he’d seen you in a dream? Some sticky remnant from a past life? Nothing else could explain the strength of the reaction that gripped him by the scruff. Commanded him to “fetch”.

...He’s doin’ so well. Being so, so careful—game’s normally still, after all. Not wriggling about anymore. Is much more effort to control his grip on a bird thas tryin' to fly away.

Thing squealing like a squeaky-toy doesn’t help, zaps somethin' in his brain, even though he’s hardly pressing. Ghost will look at you an’ see there’s no teeth marks on you. He’s being good. Knows better. Not even a tiny nibble. 

Soap's so pleased.

Only wish he'd had his tail out, so he could articulate his excitement properly.

He’ll take you home and keep you. Rest a heavy paw on you when he wants you to stay put. Carry you round the house with him. Share his food with you. Show you his other toys. Only roughhouse gently, like he would a puppy. Bat you around a bit. Paw at you real gentle like. This soft, living squeaky-toy that he can nap with. Even let you nest in his own bed, tucked under his chin. He’d only ever mouth at you gently, you'd learn you wouldn’t have to fear his teeth. He’d rasp his tongue over you, help you preen yer pretty feathers.

He ached to sigh happily against you, rut his face against you. Wanted all the rest of his sighs to be against you, pressed into your skin. Nose at your crown, in your soft neck, on your squishy belly. He’s curious where on you that scent would be the strongest.

Ghost will be so proud when he sees, when he proudly lays you at his boots—

You'll like his owner. He'll pet you real nice. Ghost always knows the right spot, even before you do. Thoughtful.

So thoughtful that he won't even mind that he'll have to sort something else out for dinner.

[huariqueje]

Big birds flying across the sky - Dan McCarthy

American , b. 1962 -

Handmade 5 colour screen print , 20 x 20 in.

[werewolf-artfriend]

cant judge a eurasian coot by its cover nowadays

[serpentface]

Brakul at around 5 years old, getting his first tattoos from Grandpa and being so brave about it

Hibrides at around 5 years old. Her brother Adeya is saving her very life from a menacing goose.

[homeofhousechickens]

Chickens likely domesticated themselves the same way wolves did which is basically by hanging around our settlements and eating our refuse.

Living with chickens in this sort of way was likely happening way before the estimated times of 8,000- 10,000 years ago. The relationship was likely already long established it was just during that time some chickens started developing smaller/weaker adrenal glands which caused them to become much easier to raise and handle which eventually lead to the domesticated chicken we know of today (and how that happened so suddenly is a completely different but very interesting topic)

Also due to this you could argue that there isn't any true wild red jungle fowl left untouched and uninfluenced by humans anymore. Not only due to constant cross breeding with domestic chickens but because red jungle fowl are still doing what their ancestors did in their current range, if there is a town or village nearby the bravest junglefowl will still choose to intermingle with the village and eat the refuse, agricultural byproducts, and waste. People will still catch and care for these "wild" birds like their ancestors did. This isn't to say we shouldn't try our best to preserve the wild red jungle fowls wild genetics, their should be populations left to be in their natural environment but it's likely they are not truly same wild birds they once were thousands of years ago and honestly that's OK because thats how its been for thousands of years.

[somerandomdudelmao]

So I got to discussing about more theories and it somehow went to “Holly can canonically turn into a chicken” so enjoy Holly chicken

Ah well ahahahahtkfkgkgkha yeah

Canon~

[kedreeva]

I'm so sorry, I'm absolutely losing it. I went to my neighbor's today to find out what I would need to do to care for their puppy this weekend, and This Fucking Thing appeared ajgldfkjhfg she is a turkey hen. you know, the birds who quite famously look like this

with no feathers on their heads, or very little, mostly along the spine/top of the head... and this gal just rocks up with not only a LITTLE bit of feathering, but almost completely covered. Even her WATTLE had feathers.

I'mc rying

i said, what the hell is going on here? and they were like

her name's Fluffy

[jadafitch]

Matinicus Rock Light, Penobscot Bay, Matinicus, Maine. Hunting and eating puffins was common practice in Maine over 100 years ago. The first lighthouse keepers on the rock were also wardens, hired by The American Ornithologists Union. They were tasked with protecting The United State's last remaining pair of Atlantic puffins, as well as many other commonly hunted seabird species. Today, Matinicus Rock is owned by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service's Maine Coastal Islands National Wildlife Refuge, and is cooperatively managed by the National Audubon Society and MCINWR. Thanks to their work and the work of Project Puffin, there are over 500 pairs of nesting puffins, plus 400 pairs of razorbills, 1,000 pairs of terns, about 700 pairs of laughing gulls, and more.

[chirrups]

omg!!! Dog au

I always head canoned jimmy to be a golden retriever and joel to be a tiny feral dogo

but they are clearly not here and I wonder what breed you drew them as and why you choose them to be that in the au

golden retriever was actually one of the breeds that i was considering in the brainstorming stages (along with some terrier breeds) but i eventually settled on the good old beagle for jimmy.

to me personally, beagle fits because they and their hound cousins are just a little more plucky and scrappy than "himbo-soft" golden retrievers are stereotyped as. jimmy is brash and foolhearted to an hilarious degree so i wanted to give him a more "goofy but still a hunting dog" feeling if that makes any sense at all.

also beagles are known for baying and i think it could function as a fun parallel symbol to the canary stuff he has going on.

and lastly, scott is a sheltie (and martyn and tango are medium-small sized breeds as well), so i wanted jimmy to fit in those size ranges and dynamics. he also just doesn't read big or small dog to me so medium size he is!

and good ole joel is a jack russel because that breed is terror on tiny legs. joel has a truly potent amount of small dog energy with the ferocity and gaul to back it up, so he gets the jack russ because those guys are as if a rabid animal and also 200 live grenades was packed into 10-pounds worth of dog.

it was a debate on whether to give grian, bdubs, or joel the jack russel terrier as they are all (just a little) napoleon-complex personalities to me but jack russel fit joel best design-wise and i ended up finding breeds that work with the other two better