I told Her that the only way she could use my name was if she let me post the first blog entry.  She didn’t like those terms, but since I had hidden her new laptop in the chicken coop she really had no choice but to accept.  Bloomers, Rosie and the other hens thought I was being entirely reasonable.  The turkeys wanted no part of this argument. 

(Bloomers & Me)

She has never set foot in our coop, not even to gather eggs.  I’ve seen her wrinkle her nose when she gets too close.  She thinks we don’t notice, but we do.  Instead She prefers to hang back on the porch.  If She feels adventurous, She might go as far as the yard.  I’ve only ever seen Her sitting in front of the laptop, typing away.  Nobody else in the house is fascinated by this thing—what’s the big deal?

(Bloomers & Rosie)

The coop is close enough to the house that I can log in via the wireless internet.  Bloomers showed me how to see where She had been surfing, and that’s how I discovered Open Salon.  Okay—that’s also how I discovered that I had a blog identity.  And then it hit me:  isn’t this identity theft?  Boy, was I pissed. 

We hens stick together.  Top Gun, our alpha male, offered to sic Psycho on Her.  He can sneak out of the coop late at night and crow under their bedroom window.  And then, when she opens the door …   Bloomers shot that idea down pretty quickly.  She’s still missing feathers from a coyote attack, and is pretty sure that Psycho would not fare as well as she did.  Then again, maybe that was the point. 

(Top Gun)

(Psycho)

Speedy suggested I talk to her.   Chick to chick.  “It may not be as bad as it looks and—who knows—maybe you won’t have to brood about this,” she said.  Rosie, who only recently stopped spending all day in the coop, didn’t appreciate this unfortunate choice of words.  Top Gun dug up a worm as a peace offering.  I wasn’t hungry, so Rosie and Speedy enjoyed it.  Maybe I should’ve had a bite, since he didn’t shut up about it for the rest of the night.  I picked at the grass.  It was settled:  I would talk to Her tomorrow.  Top Gun came with me as I walked up the hill to the house. There she was—back at her laptop.  How’d that happen?  The turkeys wouldn’t look at me—maybe they had something to do with it. 

(Speedy)

(George and Tom)

But we talked.  Well, She did most of the talking, and Top Gun tried to do an end-run maneuver around me.  Roosters have one thing on their mind.  Couldn’t he see this was important?  How could I get Her to take me seriously? 

She was a little annoyed about the whole thing at first.  Said she only picked the name because she thought I was best suited to be her blog partner.  And anyway, since her screen name is Punkrgrl and not Punker, it wasn’t really identity theft.  So I didn’t have a leg to stand on.  (I’m not sure what she meant by that, since I was standing just fine.)  But she says I can post from here whenever I want to and even loaned me her camera. 

Rosie and Bloomers say I drove a hard bargain.  (I don’t know why; I only threatened to lock myself in her walk-in closet until she agreed to let me share her OS space with her.)

(Free Range Grrl)