The weather has been fine. It turns out the chickens are competitive not only
with one another but also with other dinosaur descendants. These are the
months when everyone keeps windows open which means, of course, that we get the
dawn chorus at full volume. The smaller birds one can sleep through. Crows
are another matter. And chickens competing with crows, well that makes sleep
really quite difficult. I went to have words with the girls.
"What's all this then?"
Mimo: "What's what?"
"Do you know what time it is?"
Appenzeller: "Light. It's light."
Cheddar: "Which is what comes after sleep."
"Gods have time, clocks."
Rocky: "So?"
Peccorino (gesturing with head): "Bloody crows think they own the place."
Rocky (singing): "O sole mio."
"What? It's awful early for this kind of thing."
Rocky: "We thought we 'one up' the crows... with opera."
"That's what that noise was?"
Mimo: "Noise? NOISE?!"
All: "Whaaaaaaat?"
I returned to bed and in that feverish state between waking and sleep my brain
threw up something I knew but hadn't noticed. Years ago I had a student who
was among the most ardent feminists I've ever taught. In the first class of
"women's history," she wanted us all to explain "where we were coming from." I
can't remember how that conversation came out; some sort of power struggle
possibly. Anyway, we finished the semester very much on the same side,
together. All finished fine. I hadn't noticed, until the chickens started
singing opera, that her last name was Chapman. As far as I can tell there's
absolutely no connection between chicken singing and Chapman.
What are the limits of your duty to others? Gilbert and Sullivan were quite
funny on the subject, particularly in "Pirates of Penzance". But I remember
law school and cases with people falling through skylights while burgling and
whether or not you have to dive into frigid waters to save a drowning soul.
These were questions that distinguished British from some other kind of law,
Napoleonic possibly? I was mulling memories after a day of summer illness. I
don't know of course whether illness affects you as it does me, but when a
virus gets hold I find that I can do piddling tasks and errands, but not
actually think. Mulling seems to be the maximum setting; under those circs.
every time I try to think, I feel tired and drift off. With virus, nyeski
thoughski, minus wirus, as you were. Feeling better after one such day this
week, I was out with the dog, checking late night messages. Cat number one
came running up. "Welcome," I said, not quite believing my luck, "let me open
the door for you." On a warm evening to get in at first try someone who thinks
of himself as a mighty hunting cat is quite a bonus. I walked out through the
garden gate again and here came the second cat, at a run. Back I go, doing my
best impression of a gentleman's personal gentleman. "Good evening sir, let me
get the door." Then I became curious about what was driving them in. Was
there maybe a scary presence in the immediate neighborhood? If so, our dog,
whose vision is diminished, needed interruption in his investigation of p
mails. The thing about duty is that men and dogs have shared agreements; it's
all spelled out, at least in the case of an intelligent dog. With cats...I'm
not sure what the contract wording says. And as for chickens...
I was on the phone with J. in Manhattan. She said she could hear the chickens
in the background. Amazing what the phone's sensor picks up. Also amazing was
that Cheddar was making noises I'd never heard. Then Appenzeller joined in.
You'd think that after three years you'd have heard pretty much the whole range
but no. They're expanding their vocal range. This morning it had been E's
turn to be woken by opera. "Go away," someone seemed to be singing, and the
chorus joined in. E. got out of bed and ran down to them. Nothing in view.
She opened the cage and let them out.
"Thank you," said Mimo.
"Lovely morning," said Peccorino.
"Quite nice," said Appenzeller.
"What the...," said E. in full high dudgeon. "It six in the morning!"
"We've given up wind sprints," said Rocky, "in favor of the Arts."
"O sole mio," Cheddar sang.
"It's about what a beautiful thing a sunny day is," said Rocky.
And she was right.
David Ritchie,
Portland,
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