Sunday, June 21, 2009

mishaps mistakes lessons

Sometime during the day on Monday, June 15 the two black chickens dissapeared. Elizabeth and I came home from an afternoon at the beach where I collected many seagull feathers, to discover the break out. I noted that several days beforehand I had seen the two black chickens conspiring behind a piece of plywood, and witnessed an exchange of general snobbishness between them and the two brown chickens. Later that evening I had seen them nestled together on the top rung of their chicken palace, peeking in the window. It wasn't far from the top rung to the top of the fence, or so I surmised their escape had arisen. We went on a trip to the desert, as their really wasn't much to do about it. Secretly I was glad because I had sensed a general discontent among the chickens, paired with a fairly serious movement amongst the members of the household to pluck and eat them, of which I was not a supporter. However, the day we returned and discovered that the chickens had been ravaged by a wild animal, I was in full support of cutting their feet off so as to turn them into necklaces, or gypsy wares.

It was the neighbours who found them, one headless, the other just a carcass, in their pristine and oft-attended garden (the mint ice cream neighbours). Cara and I were just down the street doing some yard work when the sad news broke, and we were called upon to remove and transport the bodies. The next day Travis, Cara, and I had a brief funeral service in the back alley. There were flowers, a few words, and a pink broken piece of clothes hanger found while digging the grave was used as a marker.
That afternoon I made a spinach, ricotta and sundried tomato pizza with some pizza dough that Josh had brought home from his dishwashing gig. I pulled the sizzling pizza out of the oven and began to cut it into portions only to discover a dire mishap. I had mistaken the lid of an old cookie tin for a baking tray, and there was yellow (probably lead) paint stuck to the bottom of the entire pizza. Defeated, we sat in the frontyard eating what toppings we could scrounge. Then we got a burrito (Down the street at La Sirenita it's only 3.50 for the cactus burrito, and its big enough for 2 to share) and a big waffle cone. Zach would like you to know that La Sirenita means mermaid.


  1. I'm sorry to hear about your chickens. the picture of travis with the pickax is priceless. can we trade some recipes sometime? i wanna know what's in a cactus burrito!

  2. I want to know what's in a cascus burrito.