Evening blogsters:

I don't recall being overly fond of chickens when I was a kid.  Used to have to wring their necks, watch them spray blood and flop all over the place, then scald and pluck them.  That didn't encourage me to make pets of them.

But during the Y2K non-event one of the most treasured pieces of the months living in that remote cabin was all the chickens I had for company.  Those above are buff crested polish.  Rosencranz and Guildenstern were of that ilk.  Both had more heart than good sense, looked a bit on the homercestual side, but definitely weren't.  Coyotes got Guildenstern, but old Rosencranz survived.  Ended up with a farmer over near Fort Wingate who wanted some birds when I came back to town.

Lady McBeth was similar to this, though she had leggings.  Good layer, white eggs, a bit prissy for the tastes of the other hens, however.

About half my flock was Ameraraucana.  Great layers, blue eggs, good brooders.  Good all 'round hens, though perhaps a bit more dense than a person might wish.

My silkies were irredescent black, but the shape was the same as these.  Absolutely the most intelligent chickens I've ever seen.  The roosters have more heart than they can afford and hawks will pick them out of a flock thinking, I suppose, they're immature birds.... lost all my hens that way, but the roosters survived to the end.

Strange sensation having a silky rooster come up to you, tilt his head and look you in the eye.  You get the distinct feeling the critter has something on his mind besides hens, hawks and other roosters.

Jack