If you've ever wondered what it's like to run a magazine or how crazy my personal life is, be sure to read the behind-the-scenes peek at the daily trials and tribulations of running True West. Culled straight from my Franklin Daytimer, it contains actual journal entries, laid out raw and uncensored. Some of it is enlightening. Much of it is embarrassing, but all of it is painfully true. Are you a True West Maniac? Get True West for LIFE...Click here!
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
July 3, 2012
Thanks to my neighbor Tom Augherton, on Sunday I went over to Betsy's Chicken Farm and bought a little rooster for my 9 hens. Tom assured me that another neighbor, Muffy, misses my previous roosters who used to serenade our neighborhood with cock-a-doodle-dos.
Unfortunately, the little sucker was not welcomed with friendly kisses when we placed him in the coop (he's pretty small). The two biggest—and bossy—hens came right over to him, puffed up and proceeded to bonk him right on the head with their beaks. He has been running ever since. For the past two days, when he sees me coming out to feed he flies to the door, climbs up to eye level on the chicken wire and starts peeping, "Take me out of here! These bitches are gonna kill me!"
Against my better judgement, I opened the door and he hopped right out and attached himself to my leg. I hobbled back into the studio and debated what to do. I decided to sit down and start a painting. Well, the feisty little booger jumped right into that scene:
Not content to watch me paint, or perhaps cocky about his own skills, the little Van Gogh proceeded to jump into painting with both feet:
He was curious but he had a definite eye for getting into the painting.
lus he is crazy for that brush and pecks at it incessantly. And he'd probably continue pecking at it until the cows come home, but I had to go back to work.
I know this is totally nutty, but I took him to the office. Carole heard him peeping as soon as I hit the door and the little booger spent most of his time in her office.
The little rooster who could.
Last night, after dark, I snuck him out and put him on the roost with the other hens. The idea being that the chickens will wake up and think he has always been there (or, so the theory goes).
Not true. When I came out this morning he was running for his life and when he saw me, this time he squawked "Daddy! Daddy!"
Here is his first attempt at painting. Of course it has his distinctive footprints across the top and there is definite CS tinted palette (chicken s##t), but it has promise.
I don't think he's ready for a gallery show, but I am going to call around.
Now, to name this little talented cock. Over the past 48 hours I have called him:
• Mick Jagger
• Thor (the Viking leg warmers)
• Van Gogh
• Rooster Bozeburn
Not sure any of these are worthy. What do you think?
"Would a rooster by any other name crap so much?"
—Old Vaquero Question