Via cadhla, we have: the LJ High School icons, and then the explanation.

It is the current default icon for me now, the LJHS Computer Club one, replacing the happy one with me in full Santa Lucia gear (though extinguished) with Miss Aurora Fayoumis cradled in my youthful and probably overenthusiastic grasp.

My parents had the tradition of throwing great big parties for the Winter Solstice. The year we had the chickens, Mama got me and Narcissa together and made us promise to not bring in any chickens for the party, because we had people visiting who were not used to the idea of chickens as pets, and besides, chickens were rather messy, and we would be too busy having fun to watch them.

All was going well, and the kids were upstairs, and I was perching downstairs with the grown-ups for a while, when I saw FatherSir put his boots and red down vest on and slip outside. This was a That's Unusual for me, because when he went anywhere quietly he was up to something, so I watched, and when he came back in, he went right upstairs, with a suspicious lump under his vest. And he came in quietly, too, and didn't look at anybody.

I trooped upstairs after him, quietly, and discovered that the lump under his vest had been Aurora, the quietest of the two special pets, and the prettiest. She was given a pillow (from Mama and FatherSir's bed) to sit upon regally, and was petted and made much of.

Mama came upstairs sometime after FatherSir had gone downstairs, to see how things were going, and immediately reminded me of my promise to not go out and get any chickens. "I didn't!" I protested. "It was FatherSir!" FatherSir was consulted, and given intelligence that Mama had planned this to be a humans-only party. The guests, even the non-chicken-loving ones, were impressed with Aurora's calm under fire, as she sat there quietly, occasionally making queenly orders in her high, brittle voice.

Once upon a time, when we had our first batch of birdies, there were two who were the special pets: Calico and Aurora. They spent a lot of time in the house.

FatherSir had been teaching the hens a cute trick: jumping for green beans.

As with most animal tricks, you start out slowly. The hens needed very little introduction to the concept that these things were yummy, and they would eat them right up, either off the floor or out of your hand. The next step was holding the green bean at beak height. You would then raise the green bean, so the happy hen would have to stretch her neck a bit to get the thing.

After she got used to stretching up for a treat, you'd hold the green bean a little higher. She'd jump, of course.

FatherSir kept raising the level of the green bean until Calico was jumping for green beans at waist height: flying, really. It was an impressive trick, and it was fun to see a comfortable hen rocket herself into the air over a green bean. (Calico was always the more voracious one; Aurora would go after treats if it didn't muss her dignity too much.)



One evening, when everyone was at home and relaxing, and Calico and Aurora were inside, FatherSir decided it was snack time. He went to the kitchen, and put butter and honey on a scone. He started walking back to the couch, with the scone at arm's length.

My father does not have short arms. The scone dangled only a few inches above his knee. Calico spotted the slowly moving target: Oh! A treat for me? and rushed right over. She leaped, and snagged the unguarded scone from his fingers, and dragged her prize under the table.

Aurora, seeing the size of the scone, said "Pik-pik!" sharply to Calico, and rapped Calico on the head with her beak, then took the scone and began eating it, messily.


FatherSir figured that Calico had gotten the scone fair and square, and that since he'd been the one teaching her that trick, it was mostly his fault, and his fault for not putting the thing on a plate and carrying it out of harm's reach.