#white silkie chicken

[plusie]

[kedreeva]

Do you eat peahen eggs? If yes, what do they taste like?

My wife raises geese and their eggs are huge, 3x the size of a hen’s eggs, and are generally fluffier and delicately sweeter.

I do! They taste like an egg.

I'm not allowed to answer anything more, apparently

[birdgenetics]

Fibromelanism in Chickens

Fibromelanism is unique to chickens. I haven't heard of instances of this in any other species.

Fibromelanism causes black skin, meat, bones and organs. Two chicken breeds that it is commonly found in are Ayam Cemanis and Silkies.

Trust me, I've butchered a Silkie before. Every organ is black. The blood isn't, of course.

Fibromelanism is caused by an autosomal dominant gene, but it needs the id+ gene to express. The id+ gene is sexlinked recessive. Id+ enables a chicken to have slate legs, or even dark facial skin in the presence of other melanizers.

Some slate-grey legs stylishly exhibited by a young Queeny

My hen, Starling exhibited a mulberry-colored face due to the interaction of id+ and other melanizers

[ah-the-poultry]

[buffetlicious]

My takeaway of Economy Rice (菜饭) that mum bought in Chong Pang during her morning marketing trip. Just a quick pick of curry chicken, steamed egg custard and stir-fried lady's fingers or okra with curry gravy drizzled over.

[forestduck]

[rockn-rule]

Btw y'all we started hatching some chicken and we have no clue what breed they are because

1. We have an austra white hen, a red faced silkie hen, a Brahma hen, a black australorp/black sex link hen, a barred rock hen, a booted Bantam rooster (white yellow grey), and a black laced gold wyandotte rooster.

And 2. We don't know which eggs are coming from who so 3 of the current chicks are black with speckles and 2 are sorta cinnamon coloured

Honestly it's insane how these guys look and I can't wait to figure out what they are when they're older (current photos ⬇️)

[berylthebarrel]

[kateammann]

daily birds week 26!

elfin woods warbler + laughing kookaburra

common snipe + silkie chicken

white bellbird + white-eyed vireo

palm warbler

[miaoua3]

(pairing: woozi x f! reader)

happy birthday to my favourite teddy bear🤍

entering the code into the little keyboard next to the door, you slowly open the glass door and peak inside. your eyes naturally go to the chair where your boyfriend usually sits on, right in front of the computer where he lets the magic happen.

but he’s not there.

next, your eyes go to look inside the recording booth, where he usually sings into the microphone that is always set up a little too high for him for the sake of his taller members.

but he’s not there either.

lastly, your eyes fall onto the only place left where your boyfriend could be found. the place where you both spent endless nights talking, cuddling, sleeping, kissing and making love. the place that you both consider your happy place.

and there he is, laying on his back, asleep, with his arm resting on across his eyes.

smiling at the sight, you completely enter the studio, letting the door softly close shut while you put down the bags full of food.

at the sound of rustling of the bags, jihoon suddenly wakes up, ready to jump from the couch.

seeing that, you quickly approach him and quietly say “hey, hey it’s okay, it’s just me, love.”, quickly sitting down next to him and rub his back, while he rubs his face with both his hands.

in his deep and sexy voice, he responds “hey baby. didn’t know you were coming. i just laid for a bit to try to think about the next steps for the song i’m working on, but i guess i fell asleep.”, before he leans back, letting the back of his head lean on the couch, closing his eyes.

sitting more comfortably, tucking your legs beneath you, you start softly playing with his silky black hair, scratching his scalp just the way you know he likes it.

jihoon opens his eyes, looking at you while he smiles. taking your hand in his, he pulls you softly towards him, his lips already slightly puckered, ready for you to kiss him.

smiling through the kiss, you let your lips separate for a few seconds. pushing his hair back, you whisper “hi, my love.”

smiling back, he responds “hi, beautiful.”

smiling brighter, you go back to kissing him, your hands going to his round and soft cheeks out of the habit.

he stops kissing you for a second for the sake of asking you “what’s in those bags?”

suddenly remembering why you came here in the first place, you jump up from the couch and round up the small table, excitedly taking out all the things from the bags.

“first,”, you say, “we have some korean barbecue chicken. then, i also bought some rice for the sake of it. and then we have…”, you continue taking out all of the things and placing them on the table, making it look like you intend on feeding six people and not just two.

when you come to the last bag, you take it before going back to sit next to him. looking up at the clock that hangs above the glass window of the recording booth.

23:57.

smiling unsurely, you start. “lastly, we have…this.”, you say as you take out a little white box. opening it, it reveals a little white cake, with little pink hearts and a “happy birthday!” spelled on it in the same colour.

you put it on your lap before you take out one singular candle and place it in the middle of it.

“i know you don’t really like your birthdays nor being the centre of attention…but i still care about you, and i love you, and i still want to show you how much you mean to me, so. i got you a small cake. and only one candle.”, you smile gently at him, looking unsure.

jihoon smiles at you, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear.

leaning in, he kisses your cheek and then your lips softly, before whispering against them “thank you. i don’t know what i would do without you in my life.”, pausing briefly to gather the courage for the next words. looking you directly in the eyes, he continues “i want for every next birthday of mine to be like this, with you, just us and a little cake. i…i want to spend the rest of my life with you.”, his courage wavers a bit.

smiling back at him, you back away enough to light up the single candle.

looking up at the clock again, you see the time.

23:59.

“make a wish.”, you say, looking him directly in the eyes.

looking right back, he says the wish out loud.

“say yes.”, before blowing out the candle.

putting down the cake gently, you then pounce on him, kissing him with all the excitement that’s been bottling up inside of you during his little speech.

at exactly twelve o’clock, you say yes to his question.

[whatsuphoneybee]

Everybody talking about how Cecil is peak Sexy Tumblr Man bc he's Skinny White Guy in a Suit

But nobody talking about how Cecil was also the catalyst for anti-Skinny White Guy in a Suit!

By the time WTNV and Cecil rolled around in 2014 people were sick of skinny white guys in suits!!! They wanted something different! and it sparked a lot of talk around the default white depictions of characters who didn't have canon designs.

There's this image by zenamiarts that depicts a lot of the popular human Cecil designs that started popping up as a result. You started seeing Cecil with long braided hair!! Cecil with a walking stick and chronic pain! There was Cecil who was a just giant floating eyeball. Cecil who could change his entire appearance at a whim. A very popular ask blog where Cecil was a Silkie Chicken. (Newer more modern designs also showcase the eccentric fashion Cecil is now known to wear.)

i mean Fuck. Cecil Palmer was the first male character I saw drawn in a skirt!! he was the first character I saw drawn as gender nonconforming and he got treated and drawn like it was a normal thing and i will never forget that.

was it the perfect depiction of diversity? nah. & it sadly seems like a lot of the surviving artwork of Cecil from 2013-2016 is 'Skinny White Guy in a Suit'. (the 2018 tumblr exodus might have something to do with that :( )

But!!! Cecil really did open the door for future audio drama character designs. (looking at u mr. jonathan the magnus archives)

Cecil is mr tumblr sexyman and always will be thank u

[feyburner]

I have a new favorite soup:

Japanese Sweet Potato Soup with Crispy Soy-Maple Brussels Sprouts.

I have made this soup like 3 times in the past month. It hits every time. It is my comfort soup.

It’s crazy good. Extremely simple, but has such a unique texture and flavor profile. The Japanese sweet potatoes have such an amazing flavor that you don’t need anything else but some onion, broth, coconut milk, and a touch of soy-maple seasoning from the brussels sprouts. The sweet potato is 100% the star. It’s rich, nutty, savory-sweet, and the texture is a silky puree.

Here is the recipe.

INGREDIENTS

3-4 Japanese sweet potatoes (red outside, white inside—not purple Murasaki), peeled and chopped

1/2 large yellow onion, chopped

4-5 cups chicken or vegetable broth

1 x 14oz can coconut milk or cream

1-2 lbs brussels sprouts, chopped into thirds

olive oil, salt, freshly ground black pepper

2 Tbsp soy sauce

2 Tbsp maple syrup or honey

DIRECTIONS

1. In a dutch oven or large pot, sauté the onions in a little butter or oil until softened and just beginning to brown.

2. Add chopped potatoes. Add broth. Bring to a boil, reduce to a low boil or simmer, and let cook for 15-20 minutes until potatoes are fork tender. **If desired, leave a small portion of uncooked potato, chopped into matchsticks, out of the soup until after blending and then add back in during the last 20 minutes for a little texture.

3. Turn off heat. Using an immersion blender*, blend the soup until mostly smooth. Add the coconut milk and continue blending until you have a silky smooth, glossy puree texture. (In the beginning you can use a potato masher to give the blender a head start.)

4. Simmer another 15-20 minutes, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pot frequently to avoid sticking, until ready to serve.

5. While soup is cooking, roast brussels sprouts: Heat oven to 425°. Toss chopped brussels sprouts in olive oil, salt, and pepper. Spread in an even layer in a cast iron or sheet pan. Roast 30 minutes until browning, then mix together soy sauce and maple syrup. Drizzle over sprouts and toss and turn them. Roast an additional 10-15 minutes until very dark brown and crispy.

6. Add some of the brussels sprouts to the finished soup and use the rest to go on top.

*You can do this in batches with a blender or food processor, but be very careful: hot liquid in an enclosed space creates pressure and it will spit when you remove the lid each time. If using a blender, let it cool 10 minutes, then stir in coconut milk to cool further, then blend.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 7

When Kara receives a text from Lena that her ride to the restaurant has arrived, she half expects to see Lena waiting for her inside. She's only a little disappointed when to find the seat empty. What's more strange is that the driver doesn't take her to a restaurant, but rather a hotel.

Before she can wonder if maybe the restaurant is inside the hotel, a young woman emerges from the lobby and approaches the vehicle.

"Kara?" she asks a little breathlessly. Kara nods. "Hi, I'm Jess, Lena's assistant."

"Oh," Kara says, her stomach dropping. "Did she need to reschedule, or...?"

"Oh! No! Nothing like that, she's upstairs waiting for you." Jess hands her a keycard, offering a congenial smile. "Penthouse."

Blinking in surprise, Kara accepts the card with numb fingers. "And I just..."

"Yup! Staff and security are expecting you, so just go on in."

"Oh-kay..."

Jess holds the lobby door open, but doesn't follow her inside. When Kara pauses to look back, the woman is slipping into the same car Kara had just exited. As the car pulls away from the car, Kara takes a moment to collect herself.

This is fine. This is happening. And she's fine. She can do this.

Drawing her shoulders back, Kara presses further into the lobby, navigating herself to the bank of elevators with minimal fuss. When she presses the button for the penthouse suite, the car doesn't begin to move until she swipes her keycard against the sensor.

Catching sight of herself in the reflection of the doors, Kara feels flushed but exhilirated. For the first time in a long time, she feels... desirable.

When the elevator doors open, it spits her out directly into the middle of an expansive living space. Though a savory aroma fills the air, there's absolutely no one in sight.

"Hello?"

"In here!" Lena's disembodied voice calls from Kara's left. Kara drifts towards that direction, eventually turning a corner into a kitchen area bearing evidence of intensive cooking. Lena looks up from a saucepan she's stirring to grace Kara with a warm smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Kara echoes. Lena wears a stained white apron over what looks to be a black jumpsuit, pants long and elegant against her fair skin.

"I figure this is probably not what you expected for tonight, and I should have warned you, but I promise the food'll be as good as any restaurant's."

Only then does Lena seem to actually absorb what Kara is wearing. Green eyes widen minutely, then track up and down Kara's figure.

"Wow," she breathes.

A rush of pleasure floods Kara. She'd been mindful of her look even beyond the dress. She'd left her hair in a chignon, exposing the understated dangling earrings that brushed her bare neck. A gold cuff encircles her right wrist, catching the light as she leans against the island between them.

"Wow yourself," Kara returns in a low voice. She gives a teasing smirk. "I admit, when you said 'something fancy' I didn't think you meant chef boyardee."

Lena blinks, then throws her head back in a peal of delighted laughter. By the time she turns back to the pan, she has to scramble to save whatever is cooking.

"Oh shit!" she curses, still giggling as she  fumbles to turn off the heat. "That was close--- you're a menace!"

Kara lets her grin linger, watching Lena slide the pan onto a trivet. Then it's her turn to stare when Lena removes her apron, revealing a neckline that swoops lower than her sternum, accented by several strands of long, delicate chains looped around her neck. When Lena removes her hair tie, long hair spills around her shoulders.

With the intense styling from the show, her hair is soft and silky, as dark as ink in the overhead lights-- which Lena soon dims as she nods towards a small table set up with a pair of place settings.

"The wine cabinet is on that side. Care to pick something while I serve up?"

Kara readily obeys, if only to have a moment to calm her racing heart. She settles on a white she thinks will pair with the chicken she'd seen in the pan. She pretends not to see the label, one she does not recognize that she's sure is worth her half her yearly salary.

"Oooh, good choice," Lena observes when they converge at the table. As Kara sits, and Lena leans a little to deposit a plate in front of her, the inner curve of one breast becomes visible for the briefest moment.

Kara clears her throat, waiting for Lena to take her seat across the table. "You're full of surprises today," she tells her host.

"Let's just say I like to keep a girl on her toes." A mischievous glint sparks in Lena's eye as she lifts her wine glass. "To you," she toasts. "For making a certain niece slash goddaughter very happy."

"To both of us, then," Kara counters. Their glasses clink, and she's suddenly struck by how intimate her circumstances currently are. It's quiet in the penthouse, the only noise the sounds of their forks and knives clicking.

"Thank you," Lena says quietly. "For coming. I should have told you I didn't intend to bring you to resturant."

"I understand," Kara reassures her. "I can't imagine what the press would say if we were seen together--"

"What? NO. That is NOT what I meant." Lena leans forward, placing her hand on Kara's. "Are kidding? I would have absolutely zero shame being seen with you."

Kara flushes. "Oh."

"I wanted to spend time with you," Lena continues. "But being out there... it would mean sharing myself with the entire city. And the only person I want to share myself with tonight is you."

Her words descend to a low rumble, a tone that sends heat straight to her groin. She shifts in her seat, subtly adjusting in an effort to ease sudden arousal. It doesn't work.

"I hope you know how highly I think of you."

Kara's brow furrows. "That's part of what I don't understand. You don't... you don't know me."

She expects a denial, a claim of some profound connection that somehow explains everything. But Lena doesn't do that.

"You're right. We don't know each other very well. But do you know what I see when I look at you?"

"Honestly... no," Kara confesses. "I really don't."

"I see a busy woman who took time out of her evening to take her niece to a concert. Someone ran into a celebrity and didn't ask for a single thing except directions. And I see someone who saw a phone number on the back of a ticket, and had the courage to call it."

Lena gazes at her with even focus. Kara does her best to hold eye contact, until a flush creeps up her neck.

"I want to know more," she continues. She shrugs, lifting her wine glass to her lips. "Does it have to be any more profound than that?"

Kara considers her words, and to her surprise her anxiety about the whole thing begins to ease. Maybe Lena is right. Maybe Kelly is right too.

Maybe, sometimes, it's nothing more than two people enjoying each other's company. And sometimes, it doesn't need to be anything more than that.

"No," Kara agrees softly. "I suppose it doesn't."

The woman in front of her brightens even more, somehow. Lena leans back in a dignified sort of slouch, and Kara feels herself respond in kind. Her muscles loosen, and her grip on her fork eases.

"In that case," Lena says, "we have a whole evening ahead of us. Whatever shall we talk about?"

Kara meets her gaze, and relishes the energy she channels into it. Time to meet Lena exactly where she is.

"Anything you like."

---

'Anything' ends up spanning Kara's work, her family and even her limited travels, and she can't bring herself to feel self-conscious about how little it is. Despite having three times the worldliness at half her age, Lena listens with rapt attention, drinking it in.

It's easier to share than Kara thought it would be. She goes on and on, but it doesn't feel like too much, even when she figures it should be. Still, she makes a point to redirect the conversation to Lena, when they transition from the table to the couch for their second glass of wine.

"What about you?" Kara asks.

Lena snorts. "What about me?"

"Well, do you like to travel?" Kara settles into the cushions, letting her legs stretch a little. She notes the way Lena's gaze flits towards them for a brief moment before lifting back to Kara's face. "I mean, clearly you do travel, but do you like it?"

To her surprise, Lena shrugs. "It's part of the job. I don't really ever get the tourist experience, though. I think this afternoon is the closest I've come to it."

"Well, I'm always happy to be your travel guide to National City." Kara grins. "Next time I'll show you the karaoke bars I went to in college."

Lena stares at her, eyes sparkling pleasantly. "You said next time."

Instead of denying it, or trying to explain it away as a slip of the tongue, Kara tilts her head. "I did, didn't I?"

"You know..." Lena purrs, shifting to sit a little sideways, letting one finger brush the skin of Kara's shoulder. "I only had dinner in mind when I invited you out tonight."

"Mhmm," Kara hums.

"But ever since you showed up wearing this..." Lena's finger strokes the strap of Kara's dress. "I can't stop thinking what it might look like on my floor."

Kara's breath catches.

"No pressure," Lena continues, voice deep in her throat as she leans a little closer. "I just want you to know that you look.... ravishing." Lena's nose bumps the skin of Kara's neck. "And that I'd love to make you feel so, so good..."

Before she can think twice about it, Kara turns her head to meet Lena's lips with hers. Almost immediately, Lena gives a little moan, her hand coming up to cup Kara's cheek, deepening the kiss.

Kissing Lena feels less like fireworks, and more like a languid descent into velvet bliss. Lena feels soft, tastes sweet, and responds to Kara as though she lived inside her brain. Just as Kara reaches to tug Lena closer, the woman levers herself over to straddle Kara's lap. Now, both of Lena's hands are on Kara's face, and Lena's long hair brushes Kara's chest as she perches there, chin dipped to give Kara all her attention.

It's not until Lena's right hand begins to drift down towards Kara's chest that Kara pulls back for air.

"Wait," she urges breathlessly.

Lena pulls back immediately, concern plain over flushed cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, it's-- you're-- it's fine," Kara stumbles over her words. It's a struggle to form any words, let alone rational ones, past the cotton of desire stuffed between her ears. "It's just-- I haven't--"

Lena's brow furrows. "Ever?"

Kara barks a laugh. "No. Just a while." Letting her head fall back against the cushion, she sighs. "I don't want to do anything we both might regret..."

"Regret?"

Suddenly, Lena sounds small. Young in a way she hasn't before. Kara opens her eyes in time to see Lena's brightness dim, a shutter close behind her eyes.

"No, hey--" Kara reaches for her, but Lena pulls back, refusing to meet her eye. "Lena..."

"If you don't want this, you've got a shitty way of saying so."

Kara blinks in surprise at the shift in the woman's tone. But it's not anger that undercuts her words, but hurt.

"Not wanting isn't the problem," Kara murmurs. She reaches for Lena's wrist, and this time she lets her. "Usually, it is. But not this time. Not with you."

Lena looks at her, expression guarded, but says nothing.

"But I'd be lying if I wasn't afraid of what where this might lead. If tonight isn't... enough."

What had Lena said before? That she felt drawn to Kara... and if Kara were a magnet then Lena is the sun, with a gravitational field that could swallow planets-- and Kara-- whole.

"So... what do you want?" Lena asks soft.

"You." The answer is an easy one. "But maybe, whatever this is..." Kara waves her hand, encapsulating whatever invisible string was drawing them together. "Maybe it can last for more than tonight?"

Finally, Lena features soften into a timid smile. "Pen pals are cool too."

"Pen pal--!" Kara's incredulous exclamation gets swallowed by another kiss, this one soft and gentle, lingering.

"Friends, then," Lena murmurs. She looks into Kara's eyes, her gaze unfathomably deep. "And a reason to come back to National City."

When Kara leaves that night, Lena kisses her cheek one last time.

"You have my number," she murmurs, letting her hand run the length of Kara's arm as they part. "Use it."

When their fingers tangle together, Kara gives Lena's a squeeze goodbye.

"I will."

[gallusrostromegalus]

you changed your pfp

Yeah! It's Melted Smurf, the theoretical combo of a White-faced Black Spanish chicken and a Silkie chicken as proposed by @dimetrodone in this post, illustrated by me:

Enjoy his wattles.

[naffeclipse]

Heya @skizabaa! I'm your Secret Skeleton! I might have gone a bit over the word count minimum, but I had so much fun writing this! Your interests/likes are exactly my jam and I loved crafting this little piece for a cozy and sweet Halloween treat for you! I hope you enjoy some creature Sun and a Y/N who wants a friend!

The Harpy and Hazel Trees

Harpy!Sun & Reader

Word Count: ~3,500 Warnings: N/A

You’re so used to the quiet—birds calling to each other, crying out about the cold, and the buzz of the last insects filling the air with the gentle crunch of leaves underneath your feet, fallen off the hazel trees. Your lone heartbeat pulses within your ears. 

The quiet eats away at you in the way a caterpillar gnaws away at a leaf: slowly devoured. And yet, you remain. There’s still more of you left to be eaten. It surprises you every time you think you can’t take another moment of silence, of a lack of another’s voice.

Behind your simple wooden cottage, you kneel. Only a pale brown fence marks your lost lot within the forest for the deer merrily prances over it. Knees sinking down into the moist earth, you tug out the last few weeds crowding your pumpkins though they are only weeds in name. The plants, you’ve learned, hold nutrients that pair well in salads. You won’t have fresh greens for much longer.

Autumn sweeps back as if this was always its home, and you, its guest. Your garden is bursting with foods that make the harvest moon happy and the dreaded months of winter bearable. The late-season sun heats the crown of your head and strokes your hair, but it is not a substitute for a friend.

You toil away, cleaning out weeds, plucking fat cucumbers, and snatching a wide green head of lettuce. You’ll have a wonderful bowl of fresh salad tonight and cook an egg to go with it. Your chickens are still producing well but when the cold of the dying year steps in, the chickens will convert their egg-laying efforts to keeping warm, and you don’t blame them. 

These winters are brutal, on body and heart.

You shiver under a cool wind. A gust flips leaves of dill and oregano and you mutter of the cold to no one.

Then a shadow falls over you. You lift your head.

You startle in your garden. Perched on your fence just a few feet away from you is a beast, one with a rather wide grin at that. A harpy. He tilts his disk-like head, a large mouth displaying sharp teeth fit for pulling meat off of bones. Beautiful feathers sway around his face, long and curved, bright as sunshine and exquisite. He holds a rather polite expression; if only you could ignore the sharp teeth. 

His wide eyes, the color of cornflowers, hold the intensity of the hawk but soften upon gazing at you. His body is covered in a finer layer of plumage, off-white and yellow, with wings for arms and long claws on the ends of his fingers, though his large, raptor-like feet wield talons that currently balance upon your poor fence. He wears no shirt but an ascot tie of silky ruby around his thin throat. Billowy pants conceal his animalistic legs, stripped in a bright pattern of red and yellow. His wings are gently tucked against his side, hands curled in front of his chest in an almost nervous, shy manner. Radiant feathers of scarlet and gold decorate his wingspan. 

You understand immediately that he is beautiful and, perhaps, dangerous.

“Hello, I’m so sorry to drop in like this,” he begins, voice bouncing and cheerful, though a touch strained. “I hope I haven’t startled you.”

You slowly get to your feet, stunned. You clear your throat, afraid of how raspy your voice will be—the only conversations you hold are with the chickens and the goat. 

“I don’t usually get company out here,” you begin, though you sound a touch defensive. You clear your throat again. “Are you lost?”

“Lost?” The harpy cocks his head to the other side, feathers swaying like a rooster’s tail. “Oh, well, I’m only lost in that I have yet to find what I’m looking for and that I don’t know what I’m looking for yet, but the most pressing matter, currently, is the oncoming storm.”

He lifts one wing, long fingers nearly hidden under the cloak of gold and scarlet feathers, to point to the sky behind you. Careful to not turn your back on the stranger, you glance in the direction.

The harpy is right. Creeping forward are black, angry clouds. They gather low, pushing through the blue skies like a stain of ash. The storm wasn’t climbing the horizon this morning but swiftly it arrived.

He is being very polite, you muse.

“Oh,” you say, then face the harpy again. You clasp your dirt-covered hands, wishing you had thought to wear your apron so you might make yourself a little more decent. Of course, who could have predicted a visitor? Certainly not you. “Yes. I assume you don’t want to be caught in it? You’ve probably flown a long way here, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” he echoes with a grin that’s still toothy but much less sharp. His eyes upturned, the cornflower color beaming. “Could I trouble you for shelter for the evening? I won’t be in your way and I’ll gladly stay in your chicken coop or wherever won’t disturb you.”

You laugh gently. The harpy waits, his nervous hands returning once more to his chest, feathers rustling.

“Oh no, you’re far too big to stay in the chicken coop. You’ll scare my rooster half to death.” You look at him, resting a hand on your hip, forgetting the dirt caked on it. “No, you’ll come inside and out of the storm. The wind that will come will be fierce.”

“Oh!” The harpy leaps from the fence in a flurry of plumage. You start at the snap of his wings but find yourself gazing up into his towering expression, his smile absolutely delighted. “Thank you, friend! You’re so sweet!”

You look away, coughing once, unsure how to take the title he already bestows upon you. Is it even true? Could it be?

“It’s nothing,” you give. 

You bend down and snap a pumpkin from its stem, the bright orange gourd is more than ready to be harvested for its seeds. On second thought, you’ll roast pumpkin seeds and have a stew today. A meal that will honor your harpy guest as much as your little garden can. 

“Would you take this into the cottage for me?” you ask, pointing. The harpy is watching you closely, his head ticking with sharp adjustments to his gaze, his alertness unparalleled and fascinating. “I could use a hand for a few other things, too… friend. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated, but saying it out loud dusts a lightness in your chest.

“Of course!” He kneels and scoops the pumpkin into his feathered arms as if it were a mere trifle, not a fully grown vegetable. His claws carefully cradle the orange shell. “My name is Sun. I am at your service!”

You give your name in return.

It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone call for you, but when Sun says it, you feel a little more alive. A little more real.

“Do you like stew?” you ask, plucking your gathered leafy goods that will wait in the cupboard until tomorrow, and lead the way to the back door of the cottage. 

“Stew sounds heavenly compared to what I've been scourging these last few days—bugs and berries and other bitter things!” Sun’s jubilee voice is no less dampened by recounting his horrid meals. “Yes, stew sounds lovely. How might I help you, friend?”

He doesn’t see you smile. You lead him to the door and open it, holding it so that he might duck inside and not fumble the precious pumpkin.

“We’ll need a few spices, celery and potatoes. Help me dig some up.”

* * *

Harpy claws, as it turns out, are great at digging up dirt, though you think he might have put them to better use hunting. Sun is cheerful and he easily takes to work. It’s not glorious, digging up potatoes, but he does it all with a smile on his wide face. 

You love his chatter. He sounds like birds trilling and cheeping, talking of the weather and the storm and how he was alone before he ventured into these strange but wonderful woods. He doesn’t tell you what he’s seeking, but he doesn’t seem to know either. A wanderer. A lost soul.

Like you.

People like you often end up here, in this forest. A woodland of spooky, lingering things, full of yellowing trees. Everyone is seeking something. A heart hungers beside the hazels. A person gets lost here, but sometimes, a person gets found.

Taking a much-needed breather from work, you lead Sun to the hazel trees. The leaves are soft and pale as butter and halfway melted, dripping to the ground. You show him the hazelnuts, perfectly round, dark treasures. In fascination, he gazes at the hard, black shells that you easily crack, shuck, and reveal the smooth nut hidden within. 

For a while, you two snack on hazelnuts. Sun’s tongue is dark red and licks at his teeth, chewing away. You love the soft crunch, and how nutty the flavor is. In summer, you take what you have left from winter storage to mix with cocoa and sugar then crush into a paste. A treat that is so lovely you tell Sun that you wish he could be here to have a bite when you make it.

His feathers perk at the mention. He looks as if he wants to say something, something you earnestly wait to hear, but he only agrees. It does sound lovely. 

You return to work. Sun is a bit quieter, back to his anxious hand curling and feather-ruffling, almost pulling a few from around his wrists, but you don’t ask. He would have told you if he wanted to. Why confine a stranger when he’ll be gone after the storm blows through?

You taste something bitter in the back of your mouth.

He helps you haul in the potatoes, celery, and carrots. Your cottage is small, but it fits him and you just right. You begin bowling the pot, adding in bits of beef you fetched from the wooden barrel where it sat in a brine of water and salt to preserve the meat until you were ready to cook. Then you begin chopping the vegetables. Sun fetches you an onion you had forgotten, and when he returns, his feathers blown against his body due to the picking up wind, he begins asking you questions. So. Many. Questions.

You can hardly pause between them. He’s so intrigued by your every boring answer. There’s very little for you to talk about except for the years you spent here and how long you’ve been alone (you don’t tell him the last part, though he does ask about family, and you simply comment that you have none with a sharp chop of your knife across a deep orange carrot.) He smoothly moves on, tending to the boiling pot and feeding the fire when it needs more logs. 

You can’t help but stare. A harpy tending to your stew. You think this must be a dream, a wonderful, heart-breaking dream. 

Tossing the ingredients into the heated meat and broth, you and Sun wait, listening to the howl of the wind and fearfully eyeing the flames as the pressure in the air snatches at the flames by reaching down the chimney. You’ll let the fire go out when the evening ends instead of fighting with it all night, but it will get cold. You ask Sun if he’ll be alright. 

He taps his chest with a wicked sharp finger and promises that his plumage is more than enough to fight off the chill. 

You stir the stew and spoon it into simple wooden bowls. You hand one to Sun. His large, clawed hand easily grasps it. He’s so sweet, so grateful. You sit down beside him at your small kitchen table—there was never a need for a full dining room set, and now you worry it’s too humble. You never expected company.

The stew, however, is heavenly. You’re relieved and immediately warmed by the savory broth and melt-in-your-mouth bites of beef and potatoes. Sun tears into the stew and you give him a second, then a third helping. You almost laugh at how sheepish he appears until he eats once more. 

He helps you clean up��� You didn’t know what you expected, but certainly not his methodical ability to sweep the floor and scrub the pot.

“Thank you, Sun,” you say softly, handing him the last dish to set high on the shelf. “You’ve been a great help today.”

“It’s the least I could do to repay your generosity.” He faces you after setting the bowl away without any stretching or tip-toeing, unlike you. “You’re so kind and there’s so much for you to do by yourself. I’m amazed you can handle all this work. It would put a whole team of fieldhands to shame.”

“Oh, stop it,” you wave him away, ducking your head to hide your bashfulness. “I put you to work. I do hope you’ll sleep well tonight, despite the storm.”

As if summoned by your mere mention, a clap of thunder reverberates through the air. Your heart quakes in the strength of the ferocious growl. Sun whips his head towards the front door as if expecting the storm to rudely barge in without your invitation. 

“It’s a very good thing you stopped here,” you say, breathless. 

Sun slowly looks back, his hackles raised, and his cornflower blue eyes fall down. You follow his line of sight to your hand touching his feathered wrist, fingers anxiously curled.

“Oh.” You drop your hand away. “My apologies. Let me get you a comfortable place to rest. I’m afraid I only have one bed.”

“No need to apologize,” Sun says quickly, “Were you concerned for me, friend? That’s alright. Friends can be concerned for each other and there’s no shame in that. I truly don’t mind.”

You nod but don’t meet his gaze.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Friend?”

You stop, looking back at him. You wonder if he intends to leave, but that can’t be right. The storm is descending with a vengeance. 

“I need only sit by the hearth. I don’t need beds or other human comforts, though I appreciate your offer.”

“Oh.” You look around, the smell of stew having long since drifted away as the fire slowly begins to die. A thick darkness descends. You regard the harpy with a worry for the morning. Sunshine will come, yes, and the skies will be clearer, but he will leave.

You find yourself dreading tomorrow.

“Very well.” You hold his gaze for one brave moment. The cornflower blue holds you. “Goodnight, Sun.’

“Goodnight, friend.”

You close the door to your bedroom. In quiet reflection, you dress into your night clothes and slip under the quilts on your bed. You are so caught up on Sun’s ruffled feathers, his cheerful demeanor, and how anxious he holds his claws. 

He calls you a friend. You’ve only just met. You shouldn’t be so attached to a fellow so quickly, yet, you find yourself wondering how you might combat the silence in the afternoon after the thunder ceased its grumbling and the harpy has continued on his way.

You hardly sleep a wink before the storm splatters rain upon the roof and sends winds to rattle the shutters. A quaking bolt of lightning strikes, the thunderous cry shaking the very cottage and you bolt upright. You cry out, disturbed from dozing, dark dreams. 

The very world is being torn apart by a dark tempest.

“Friend!” The shout is muffled through the door, but you hop out of bed, bewildered and frantic, and throw it open to find the harpy.

He stoops low, his height eclipsed by the stout door frame. You stare up into his concerned eyes, long hands almost reaching for you but hesitating.

“I heard you shout. Are you alright?”

You lay a hand over your chest and breathe out. The wild blood pumping in your veins has yet to calm, but the sight of Sun’s cheerful face plumage, swirling about his expression like rays of the sun, and his big blue eyes, looking over you for injury or harm, touches your heart.

“Yes, I’m alright. The lightning—the thunder scared me!”

“It’s alright. It startled me, too,” he gives, though grinning with the energy of a thousand afternoons.

Sun peers through the small window in your bedroom. The lightning flashes again, not so close, but the thunder roars upon the little cottage as if a beast had snatched your home into its mouth.

You shudder to think of lying down now.

You hesitate, contrite, then ask quietly, “Sun?”

He visibly perks up and almost hits his head on the top of the doorway. His golden feathers brush against the ceiling of the cottage. 

“Yes?”

“Can I sit with you for a while? If I’m not keeping you awake, that is…”

His expression blooms as if a flower under the sun. He grins, the sight so lovely and tender before he takes your hand in his down-soft palm.

“Of course! There are still hot coals in the hearth, and I do hope I can help you stay warm, just a little.”

You lower your shoulders. A calming pulse moves through your chest as Sun, your friend, guides you into the room with the dying embers that beat a last, desperate red in the sooty black.

“Are you cold?” you ask, concerned. 

“No,” his eyes upturn, “If it’s alright, I would like to keep you warm.”

He opens his arms, the plumage of his wings falling like a cloak of ruffled sunshine and scarlet. His chest is fuzzy with soft down, and his billowy pants cross to make a comfortable seat on the floor before the cooling heart.

You want nothing more than to enter his embrace. Worry of the morning strains against your weary thoughts, holding you away.

“Are you sure?”

You only met him today. Why do you feel so much for this blossoming friendship, newly made under the threat of a storm and in the dirt of hard work?

He inclines his head gently, his feathers softly sashaying with reassurance. “Yes. I would be delighted to help my friend.”

His warm confidence chips away at the last of your reservations. Breathing in, you ease yourself into his embrace. Settling into his warm body—you didn’t realize how wonderfully comforting his form is, wrapped around yours, like a drop of sunshine. It immediately chases away the autumn cold nipping at your edges. Once you set your back against his chest, feeling a bit conscious of his presence and how you hold yourself, Sun wraps his arms around your shoulders. His beautiful wings cover you up in the burning colors of sunsets. Outside, the thunder and rain harmonize. 

“Is this alright?” he asks.

You nod and hook one hand over his fluffy wrist. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yes,” you murmur.

It’s nice to have a friend.

You sit a while, gazing at the fire. Sun hums a low, throaty sound that reminds you of birds calling to each other, and you drift quietly. Your head begins to fall. In smooth, careful motions, Sun shifts your legs so they drape sideways off his lap and guide your cheek so it might rest on the soft pillow of his shoulder. His arms fall upon you again. You are blissfully warm, sleep whispering in your ears.

“Friend?” he says. His fingers curl against your arm. An anxious clench.

“Hmmm?” Your eyelids flutter.

“I was thinking—in the morning, you’ll have so many branches to pick up off your garden and you’ll need to check your chickens and see if any of your precious vegetables have been harmed, and you have so much work to do! I could stay a bit longer tomorrow, just to lend a hand, as a final thank you.”

“Sun?”

Your eyes open in the blue dark of the autumn night. Your heart melts quietly in your chest, and you think you might be brave. You dare to want to be bold enough to let him stay with you, beside you.

The harpy titters nervously. “Well, only if that wouldn’t be an inconvenience for you, of course. I don’t want to impose or linger where I’m not wanted—”

“Sun?”

“Oh! Yes?”

You sigh softly and close your eyes.

“Would you like to stay?” You hesitate quietly. Your heart thumps with all the desire of your being. “My friend?”

The beat of silence is devastating. The echo of nothingness deafens your ears and you almost lift your head to see if you cross a boundary or assume too much, but Sun quietly trills.

“If you’ll have me.”

You smile.

“Yes, I will.”

“Then you know my answer, dearest friend.”

You soften in relief, and in Sun’s gentle melody humming in his chest and soothing your very soul, you drift away. In the morning, there will be Sun. For every day after, it will be you two in the cottage.

You and your dearest friend.

[kedreeva]

Hi! 😁 I might soon have the chance to have a garden and I've always wanted to have a few chickens, and I've started some online reasearch about keeping chickens but since you're an expert and I don't trust some of the online sources, do you have any tips for absolute beginners? 😅

I do! You can have a garden, or you can have chickens, but the two are diametrically opposed forces that do not coexist peacefully without fully enclosing one or the other. Chickens can and will obliterate gardens and landscaping if they have access to it, including absolutely destroying mulch patches by helping you spread it all over the yard.

I'll put the rest under a cut ^_^

When you acquire chickens, don't get them from a hatchery, get them from a small breeder you've looked into and spoken with about their actual birds. Hatcheries have poor quality animals, so while you may be getting a "black copper marans," they're not gonna necessarily look very nice, and they're almost certainly not going to lay that nice, deep chocolate marans are known for.

Vs straight from one of the bigger hatcheries pages, photos of their eggs:

You also are NOT going to get the breed qualities of any given breed except maybe some of the production breeds. For example, a Jersey Giant from a reputable breeder will get up to 10-13lbs, which is as big or bigger than my peafowl. Same with Brahmas and Cochins. Hatchery stock you will be lucky to see 6-8lbs, and people are OFTEN disappointed about this kind of thing. Silkies, as another example, can look WILDLY different from a hatchery vs a private breeder. A show quality silkie is a puffball:

Hatcheries also pull skeevy moves like calling easter eggers (mutts that lay blue, green, pink, brown, or white eggs) "americanas" hoping that you mistake it for "ameraucana" the pure breed that lays stark blue eggs. Then they charge you ameraucana prices (like, $25/chick) when they should be charging more like $3-5 a chick. They'll do things like call a marans/barred rock mix a "mystic marans" as if it's a new color morph of a marans chicken instead of a mixed breed mutt they invented to be able to sex their chicks at hatch easier. People get these guys expecting MARANS eggs, and they get tan barred rock eggs. Same can go for temperament and behaviors. You go anywhere that has a group of chicken owners and ask them what their favorite breed is, you will get a range of answers with reasons like "my X is so sweet" while the next person will go "mine's the devil" and if you ask, 9 times out of 10, it's hatchery stock birds. Well bred private breeders often have MUCH more stable temperaments.

vs hatchery stock

Getting from a private breeder also lets you get eggs, which can help you dodge a LOT of disease bullets. There's very little that transfers through the egg, strangely, and some of that is transferred on the surface of the eggs (like mycoplasma) so a quick santizing dip before incubation gets rid of that. I know that hatching them yourself is more of a hassle, but so is losing your flock to newcomers that came in with something entirely avoidable if you'd hatched instead. If your breeder is NPIP certified, they're getting tested for the major egg-traveling problem (pullorum) and a dip will take care of most anything else unless you're super SUPER unlucky.

Lastly on acquisitions, be prepared to get roosters. If you can't have roosters, be prepared to get them processed for yourself for food, or let the roosters go to food homes. Please please please please. There are so many, many excess roosters. They cannot all go to homes. The rooster to hen ratio in a flock is like 1:9. The rooster to hen ratio in hatching is nearly 1:1. Let someone make use of them. EVEN if you order from a hatchery, and order all pullets, they can make mistakes and send rooster babies. It's not a guarantee! Have a plan in advance! Mentally prepare yourself! Don't be one of Those People making posts in local groups about how you don't want/can't have this rooster but also no one else can eat it either. Chickens are a lot of things. Sometimes food is one of those things.

BEFORE actually acquiring the chickens, locate a vet that will see them. You are GOING to have an issue at some point in their lives, and that's not the time to start looking for a vet, that's the time to already have a vet on hand. In fact if you can support a yearly wellness check on at least one of the birds to test for communicable illnesses (like mycoplasma) and have a good relationship with your vet in advance, that's even better.

As for care, if you plan to contain the chickens, the minimum recommendation for a backyard coop and run varies wildly. For stress purposes, most chickens will find 4 feet of floor space per bird inside the coop adequate, accompanied by 10 square feet of space in a run per bird. Unlike peafowl, it doesn't matter how big the run is, the chickens will be turning the entire thing to bare soil, which is one of the reasons most people don't keep both in the same pens. I literally attempted to keep 2 standard chickens in a 1200 foot pen and they systematically went about destroying everything they could get to.

Most layer feeds are 16% protein; most layer feeds are also /production/ layer feeds, meant to feed production breeds in a space where they get NO other feed except this. If you plan to feed anything other than layer feed to them, like treats or whole foods or scratch grains, then you need to find a higher protein feed for them, because most treats are lower protein than layer feed. Avoid anything produced by Purina or Dumor (which is purina but TSC brand), except MAYBE the organic dumor 5-grain scratch grain, it's well-known as one of the worst quality fowl feeds out there. Check out your local mill and see if they have any options that are better than the big box farm stores. Kalmbach makes good feeds, as does Belstra.

Possibly counterintuitive, but stick with a smaller waterer over a larger waterer. You can keep a larger one around for if you go away for the weekend or something to make it easier on a sitter, but a smaller waterer like a 5-quart or gallon waterer will be easier to clean and make sure that you're giving fresh water more often, plus avoiding mosquitoes growing in it. Waterers can slime up really easily in the summer, so just be prepared to give it a quick swish clean every time you change the water out. Smaller waterers also make it easier to give them medication if you have something that goes in the water, especially since a lot of the water medications are "make fresh daily." Personally I don't bother with heated water bases anymore in the winter, I just have enough waterers to exchange them for a fresh one a couple times daily, while the old one thaws inside the back door on some plastic. The galvanized ones you have to use with the heated bases always got gross fast, with rust and discoloration and the stopper in the bottom always dried out and eventually cracked over the summer when we weren't using them.

Try to avoid straw bedding unless you REALLY trust the source. Straw is mostly for livestock, not poultry. It cannot catch the droppings of poultry the way shavings or sand or other beddings do, meaning the wet gunk drops to the floor under it and/or collects into grossness. It also molds easily, can carry in field parasites (since it's not treated the way shavings are often kiln fired before packaging), and breaks down into shards. I'm not saying you can't ever use it for any reason (I use it in some fashion, and have for over a decade, but not exclusively, and I trust my source, we've never gotten mites or anything, and I'm very careful about which bales I pick out), but if you have a choice, go for the wood substrates, or even for sand. A lot of people put sand in their runs because they can then rake it like kitty litter.

Look into what plants chickens can't have, and check your yard over thoroughly for them before adding chickens. Things like lilac bushes are toxic to them. Tomato and potato plants are nightshades so while they can have the fruits, the leaves and stems can be toxic. Stuff like that.

Lastly.... if anyone ever makes a claim about what something does for a chicken (example: diatomaceous earth, apple cider vinegar, pumpkin seeds, oregano, red pepper flakes, lavender, etc are all things I've seen people claim do all sorts of things from worming birds to curing respiratory infections), ask them for their source. If it's a blog post, ask them for a scientific article. If they can't provide it and you can't find one that backs up what they're saying, maybe reconsider the value of that particular advice. The thing is, the BIG production companies are VERY invested in finding cheap or organic or tricky ways to do WHATEVER it is (treat endo/ectoparasites, treat illness, make bigger or more eggs, change egg yolk color, etc), and they pour money into trying to figure out which old wives tales actually work and which ones don't. And if they haven't been able to prove it to a point where they'll spend money on it as a solution, then chances are REALLY GOOD that it's not a solution at all actually.

Things like how to clean coops, what feeds to get, what items to use for care, where to source birds, behavioral information etc, that's all stuff you can ask advice on in general public spaces. You'll still get a range of answers, and some of them will be garbage answers, but hardly any of them will do harm to your animals to do or not do. Like, for example, you can use a big waterer or a small waterer, as long as it's clean. You can vary coop and run size and still be fine. You don't have to feed exactly what someone else is feeding for your birds to be fine. You're probably going to try a few breeds before you find the one(s) you like best.

But when it comes to medical info or any kind of "treatment" type stuff? Consult a vet and/or at least look for scientific papers.

And lastly.... chicken math is Real, yo. However many chickens you think you want to get, plan on having the space for double that amount so you don't gotta rebuild anything when you ultimately decide wait, you need a couple more. The bigger space won't hurt them if you don't get more, but it'll be so much easier on you if you do ;)