The Noble Snow Chicken

Today I am dedicating this blog post to a truly noble beast that no one gives its due. It is often referred to as the "snow chicken." And, given that it is winter and there is still snow in front of my house I thought it only fair to give this animal a little honorable mention. Another name it has is the ptarmigan. The 'p' that starts its name is just for show, so it is pronounced "Tar-mig-an." See, the bird is getting tricky already.

The reason the ptarmigan is so tricky is because he has to be. He is the official game bird for Newfoundland and Labrador in Canada. So, he's always on the run, usually being chased by backwoodsy types with enormous fur coats. Fortunately, in other places he is more respected, and not made the Josey Wales type. In Nunavut Canada he is the official bird (that seems nicer than official game bird). In America he is called the partridge, and even plays an integral part in Christmas music as you can recall from the Twelve Days of Christmas.

But one good reason we can admire this noble snow chicken is because of his actions. The male ptarmigan's song is a loud croaking (not unlike the Budweiser Frogs) And, if that weren't enough, it turns out that they can be surprisingly tame and approachable. If you don't like the idea of a guard dog, perhaps you should get a snow chicken to croak at would be robbers. Furthermore, they are rough and tumble birds only living in harsh climates like the mountains of Scotland, the Pyrenees, the Alps, Bulgaria, the Urals, the Pamir Mountains, the Atlay Mountains and Japan. They are in essence the mountain men of the bird world.

I personally plan on owning a snow chicken. I will probably get him a spike collar and call him Bruno. 

My yard, the bird sanctuary.

The lawn in front of my house is not in the best of shape. It's mostly weeds, with a select patch of grass. It is also slightly balding. But this was not always the case. It used to be lush. Lush with dandelions, clover, crabgrass, and stuff that resembled grass but wasn't. Well, the owner didn't want that, so she had the maintenance guy put down some weed killer/fertilizer. Now if there's anything I've learned from being a landscaper, it's that it's either one or the other. And, unfortunately for our lawn, it did more killing than fertilizing. But, even after our front yard was made a barren wasteland (or so it seemed), it has been home to many animals.

Most notably of these is a flock of sparrows. I see them almost everyday, pecking at the grass eating something (I hope for their sake it's not the killer/fertilizer pellets), but I really don't know. And we've had a family of quail, as well as a pair of ducks live in our yard. So, I suppose you might say we run a bird sanctuary. And, we even had a rehabilitation case. We named him Bill.

Bill had a bum wing. So he usually didn't stray too far from the porch. I'd throw him sunflower seeds, rice, and random birdish food items, and he seemed pretty appreciative as he gimped around the yard. But quite often I would be inside, typing away on the computer, or reading a book and I left the door open. Well, it didn't take too long for Bill to decide he liked it better inside the house. I would sit there, my computer on my lap, and then, out of the corner of my eye I'd see this little brown smudge hopping on the carpet. It was Bill.

This went on for some time. Almost everyday Bill would come on by, eating random stuff off of the carpet and then I'd bid him adieu. Then, came that fateful Saturday. I left the house to go hang out with some friends, and I left the door open, thinking it would do little harm as my brother and other room mate were home. Later on, as I was in the middle of something cool I got a phone call from my good friend and neighbor. It was a somewhat unexpected call, but so was the news. He said my kitchen was full of birds, and that they were hopping around and leaving little bird presents wherever they went. Before responding, I knew in my gut it was Bill. Bill had taken advantage of my good nature. How could you Bill? You look all gimpy and innocent, and then when I throw you a bone you ransack my house with your bird friends. Disappointed doesn't describe it. I felt betrayed.

My door is now closed.