In high school I had a couple of chickens. One was a Barred rock rooster(pictured at right) that, in all my creativity, I named Pollo (pronounced Poy-o), which is Spanish for rooster. The other was a black Australorp hen that I named Gallo (pronounced Guy-o), which is Spanish for (you guessed it!) hen.
Pollo was really mean as far as chickens go, and came to a sticky end after attacking my brother while he was doing chores one time when we were all away. The chicken used to terrorize my father, which considering how much he dislikes birds, was not a good thing. He was lucky to survive as long as he did.
Gallo , which I can't find any pictures of, came from my friend's house. I was over practicing my shooting and when I got into my car to go home, there was a chicken in my backseat! So I took her home and she became friends with Pollo. Actually he terrorized her too; he was forever trying to mate with her and actually managed to yank all of the feathers out of her back. Poor bird. I don't really remember what ever became of her.
She asked mom if she could have a duck, and mom probably said no, but she went ahead and spent the five dollars and brought home a duck in a cardboard box anyway. Apparently he kept poking his head up to peek around on the car ride home so she named him Goofy.
It was actually because of my little sister that we ended up with a whole flock of ducks on the farm. Her fifth grade teacher found a nest of eggs and brought them into class for the students to learn about, but then when the school year was done the five young ducks came to our house to live and eventually we had about twenty ducks flying around.
The last duck disappeared this summer or spring and I think my Dad will miss them the most, since he always searched out the eggs and had them for breakfast.
EDIT: Blogger seems to have eaten half of my post, and damaged it too badly so I am going to try again.