April 12, 2004

Forget eggs. This is waaay cooler. I envision a future where all of our pets can be technicolor. That, and perhaps some Faberg
posted by InfraMonkey 20 years ago
  • Unfortunately for the green cat enthusiasts, it doesn't last.
  • The Faberge-chick link didn't work for me. And, for most of us, chickens (or rabbits) aren't very satisfying pets. The sad thing is that they look soooo cute when they're fluffy and newborn, but then they turn into roosters, hens and rabbits, which aren't very cuddly (rabbits have very sharp claws, by the way, and startle easily) and won't play with a ball or piece of string. My advice is to stick with animals which have developed into pets, as opposed to those we've made food sources.
  • My brother used to do the same thing with chicks, well except for the mass-marketing part. I think he also had some way of getting adult chickens to eat enough food coloring that their skin would change colors.
  • My friends and I also used to do something similar to ducks. But we used spray paint.
  • Hmm, my mad HTML skillz have apparently failed me :) Anyway, here is the Faberg
  • If your feeling that you must have the latest trend in pets, you can always design your own. Mad Scientists/Artists need only apply.
  • Wot a faberlous link, InfraMonkey!
  • Faberge eggs are so beautiful - and yet, if it were your Easter present wouldn't you be a little disapointed it wasn't edible?
  • Seems to me there's a Japanese tale or proverb or koan or some such I encountered a year ago or so that goes to this effect: when you have only a very little last money, spend it not on rice, but on red flowers for your table. Anyway, that really resonates for me. And like many artists, I have been damn hungry a few times.
  • Among the orchard weeds, from every search, Snugly and sure, the old hen's nest is made, Who cackles every morning from her perch to tell the servant girl new eggs are laid; Who lays her washing by, and far and near Goes seeking all about from day to day, And stung with nettles tramples everywhere; But still the cackling pullet lays away. The boy on Sundays goes the stack to pull In hopes to find her there, but naught is seen. And takes his hat and thinks to find it full, She's laid so long so many might have been. But naught is found and all is given o'er Until the young brood come chirping to the door.
  • Oops -- the above is by John Claire.
  • Where's our resident chicken expert?
  • Yeah, where is them?