Sow There!

In our haste to blame someone, we thought that the cracks around chicken’s lips and the blisters on his toes must have been caused by his captors.
But after a while I realized that the sticky, yellow goo that rubbed off onto my hands was from melted rubber when the chicken got too close to the heater on the floor board of the car.
Over the past two years that chicken has been in active use. We’ve stuffed many keepsakes in his body cavity, such as ticket stubs to museums, receipts from memorable nights out and day passes from state parks.
In that way, our chicken has had multiple roles as universal ambassador, mobile gag gift and time capsule.

About the time I was scratching my head wondering what on earth to do without the chicken, a mysterious package arrived at work.
The small package was wrapped in Christmas wrap and included a note that said it was from “a loyal reader in Biggs.”
Inside was an approximately four-inch rubber chicken, with wings and legs splayed. The tag states the toy is appropriate for ages 6 and up.
If you squeeze the chicken’s middle, a grotesque sack filled with a watery substance and a yolk-colored ball emerges.

The fact that we got a temporary, travel chicken, was much like a gift from the rubber chicken gods. Extra joy was received knowing that there was a reader out there who a) understood my sense of humor and b) wanted to perpetuate that sense of humor.
I’ve since ordered a new, full-size rubber chicken from the Internet but plan to use the small-sized rubber chicken for everyday needs.

More yellow joy
We took the miniature, egg-laying chicken to a very civilized New Year’s Day celebration at Shelley and Kevin’s house.
Shelley and I first became friends in college where we spent months in the dark, dank basement of Plumas Hall working on the college newspaper.
Many ears ago, she and her hubby Kevin bought their first house and Shelley made the oh-so-wise decision to plant a Meyer lemon tree just a few steps from her back porch.
Meyer lemons have a distinct flavor and are the darling of chefs of the “California Cuisine revolution.”
They grow well in Chico and have very few seeds.
Like all fruit trees, they take several years to produce fruit.
After visiting with Shelley and her friends for brunch, we stopped by her former house where we were told the Meyer had a bountiful crop of oranges.
As I was filling up a white plastic grocery bag with lemons, I was amazed at how prolific Shelley’s lemon tree had become, and my sense of envy was activated.
Such wisdom Shelley possessed to know that a steady supply of Meyer lemons for yourself and for your friends is a treasure.

Due to security reasons, the location of Shelley’s former house will not be disclosed.
Meyers are sweeter and less acidic than the common lemons, and have a very fragrant zest.
Because of their small size, they can also be kept pruned in large pots.
Because I have yet to learn how to propagate through cuttings, my plan is to try to sprout some of the seeds, then wait patiently for the next four years until my own tree bears fruit. By then I may well have moved somewhere else, but the plan would be to harvest the fruit by night.

In addition to being a great navigator in the car, chicken meets friends wherever he goes, including this giant mechanical snake at the Rain Forest Cafe in San Francisco.



Out with the old, in with the new. Chicken made a visit with us to my Auntie Jeanne's house in the Bay Area, where he posed with my cousin's new son Jaxson. From the look on Jaxson's face, he is too young to yet know the full joys of a traveling rubber companion.