Chicken Paints Simon Cowell Live on Stage… And He Can’t Believe It – Breaking Stage

My name is Emily Johnson. I'm eight years old and I'm from a small farm in Oak Ridge, Nebraska. This is Picasso, my chicken, and he, he paints. I know it sounds silly but it's true. And today we want to show you something special. I found Picasso when he was just a tiny chick. It was raining really hard that day and I was helping my daddy check the fence line in our truck. That's when I saw this little yellow fluff ball soaking wet in a puddle by the side of the road. He was all alone. No mama chicken, no other babies. Just him. I begged daddy to stop and when I picked him up he was so cold and shivering. I didn't think he was gonna make it. Daddy said sometimes nature is just cruel that way and that I shouldn't get my hopes up. But I wrapped him in my jacket and held him close all the way home. For three days I kept him in a box by my bed with a little lamp to keep him warm. I would wake up every two hours, even during the night, to feed him with a tiny dropper. My mom said I was being too attached that farm kids know better than to name animals that might not survive. But I named him anyway. Picasso. I don't know why, I just liked how it sounded. After a week Picasso started getting stronger. He would follow me everywhere around the farm. My brothers teased me, said I was crazy for loving a chicken so much. But Picasso wasn't just any chicken. He was special and I knew it before anyone else did. When I was sad he would sit in my lap. When I cried because the kids at school made fun of my hand-me-down clothes and called me farm girl like it was something bad, Picasso would tilt his head and make these soft little sounds until I felt better. Last year was real hard for my family. The drought took most of our crops and daddy had to sell half our land just to keep the bank from taking our house. Mom had to get a second job cleaning houses in town. Some nights I'd hear them talking about maybe having to move to the city which would mean giving up our animals. I entered Picasso in the 4-H competition because the prize money could help us keep feeding our animals through winter. I didn't think a chicken could win, usually it's the big fancy cows or pigs that get the ribbons. But Picasso was special to me and I wanted everyone to know it. The day before the competition I was so nervous I couldn't eat. I was sitting at the kitchen table playing with my food when mom was painting at her easel in the corner. She paints landscapes to sell at the farmer's market, that's how we get extra money for my school supplies. Picasso was just walking around the kitchen like he always does when suddenly he jumped up on the table, walked right through my mashed potatoes and then straight across mom's palette. There were chicken footprints of blue and yellow paint all over the table. Mom was about to shoo him away when something amazing happened. Picasso walked right up to mom's canvas and started pecking at it. But not like regular chicken pecks, he was making little strokes with his beak, dipping back into the paint when he needed more. We all just stood there watching him. He was painting, really painting, not just random marks, it almost looked like a face. It was your face, Mr. Cowell. America's Got Talent was playing on our little TV in the kitchen and Picasso was watching it and then he just painted you. Not perfect, but good enough that we all knew who it was. At the 4-H competition the next day we didn't just show Picasso as a chicken, we showed what he could do. The judges didn't believe it at first so we set up a little easel right there in the livestock tent. Everyone gathered around and Picasso painted a picture of the big red barn on the fairgrounds. People were taking videos on their phones. Someone from the local newspaper was there. Picasso won best in show not just for chickens, but for the whole competition. They said it was the most extraordinary thing they'd ever seen at a 4-H event in all 50 years. The prize money helped us keep our farm through the winter. But that's not why we're here today. We're here because Picasso has a special gift and when you have a gift, my grandma says you have to share it with the world. Sometimes the most amazing things come from the places and creatures you least expect. So today, if it's okay with you, Picasso would like to paint a portrait live on this stage of you, Mr. Cowell. Because ever since that day in our kitchen you're his favorite person to paint. I don't know why. Maybe it's because you tell the truth and animals always know who tells the truth. Picasso helped save our farm and brought joy back to my family during our hardest time. He reminded us that miracles can happen even in the form of a rescued chicken who paints. So are you ready to see what Picasso can do?