Oh Look... there's a chicken in the living room... and butter tarts in the kitchen....but not for long.

I just ate a Butter tart for breakfast and stashed the last two in the cupboard and came down to blog or started to. I decided I’d go up and grab a cup of tea first when Roger asked.
"Where are the butter tarts? I went to get one and couldn’t find them. I looked all over for them, they're not in the fridge or any where I looked."
"Here they are." I exclamied with feigned good humor, all the while thinking “ Nuts, I won’t get to have anymore because I was secretly hoping he had forgotten about them and I could have the rest.
I am a butter tart freak. There, my secret is out. I LOVE butter tarts. But not just any butter tarts, home made with a real crust and crumbly like the ones Dave Made and bought over last night.
Roger loves them too but he will eat any old crud butter tart out of the store.
What is WRONG with him?
Why can’t he leave the truly GOOD, melt in your mouth, sugary sweet bowls of heaven for those of us who TRULY appreciate them??
I made like I was HAPPY to share the last few with him. It’s what you do when you love someone.
Had he never asked, I would have happily gobbled the last two by lunch time without volunteering that fact that they were there. But he did. And I just cannot lie.
I am a bad girl.

Now I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of our household.

.

I haven’t named him yet.
But he can dance. Boy can he dance. And he is a chicken
I managed to get one still shot of him but as you can see from the other picture, he moves and he moves fast I lay down on the floor and turned him on but by the time I get focused on him he is right in my face. He looks happy doesn’t he? Dancing for all his little chicken heart is worth.
Flapping his wings, and moving those little chicken feet.

I feel compelled to go see if by any chance there IS one more butter tart left. Wish me luck.