Fair warning: the following post's feeble excuse for being is that Robert Paul has asked us to consider how fair we need to be to certain fowl, which raises two issues I know something about: justice and chickens. on 5/28/04 10:33 PM, Robert Paul at Robert.Paul@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx wrote: > Even chickens get a better life under new animal laws If Robert Paul reads our local news-piper's gardening section, he will already know what I'm going to tell you--that free ranging chickens are virtuous; they are the best current answer to the problem of rats under bird feeders. Birds do three things when perching on a feeder: eat, chuck bits over the side, fertilize the ground below. Thus bird feeders can attract rats and, if water is available, start little gardens. Our neighbor had exactly this problem. Bloomin' big rats too. Obviously chickens are not the only solution. You could teach the birds to eat tidily, perhaps by leaving a copy of Emily Post for them to read. You could train a cat as a kind of a bouncer, keeping only the unruly element from the bounty. But the recommended answer is to colonize with chickens, roaming freely below. You must, however, take them in at night. As I learned only yesterday, night is not for chickens. The tale goes like this. Laura came home with the news that the husband of one of her patients is in a band. She wanted to consider hiring this band for Julia's Bat Mitzvah. Since they were playing about two miles from our house, she proposed going with friends, after dinner, to hear them. Monty's Tavern in Beaverton is not our usual kind of hangout. Thick with smoke, and peopled by regl'r folk, it resembles little shack bars all across America. It was totally unencumbered by twee paraphenalia, or I might add, divers in Speedos. We listened to the band for a bit. The playing was competent, if a little old-fashioned, a lively and pretty accurate version of "Honky Tonk Woman," for example. I noted was that guitars are no longer plugged in with wires; they broadcast wireless signals to the amps. You, having been to a rock concert some time in the last twenty years, already knew this. So I was minding my own business when this huge guy came up to me, which is not a thing you want to happen in such a bar. He pointed his finger at a woman seated at a table. "She wants to dance with you." No one was dancing. Emily Post and all my knowledge of chickens, rats, and history hadn't primed me with a proper answer, so I fell back on the actor's trick--if in doubt, mumble and gesture. I waved my hand towards my wife, "I'm with her." He walked away. We showered when we got home, and at one in the morning, hung all our clothing outside to de-smoke it. Today neither of us feels like a spring or any other kind of chicken, but we comfort ourselves with the illusion that we now do not feel as old as we did before dinner yesterday evening, and there's some sort of justice in that. David Ritchie Portland, Oregon ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html