There hasn’t been what you would call a flood of responses to the invitation to
ask chickens questions. They, on the other hand, have been asking if anyone
has been asking and expressed their readiness in other ways too including, if
you can believe this, a chorus of, “Oh Canada,” with special emphasis on the
words, “We stand *on guard* for thee.” The things these chickens learn from
little birds. Actually not so little; the song arrived by way of Canada geese
migration.
To keep their blood pressure low, I came up with a few questions myself.
“What is your view on the potential of solar energy hereabouts? We’ve had an
expert in but it’s not clear that even with global warming Oregon our part of
the world is a particularly good candidate.”
Mimo, “Very much in favor.”
Appenzeller, “You’ll have noted that as soon as we get any amount of sunshine
we spread our wings and lie down.”
Pecorino, “One of the most wonderful feelings in the world, solar energy
charging.”
“I thought you were ridding yourselves of mites…something like that.”
Mimo, “We are not mighty.”
Appenzeller, “Not in the least.”
“Oh,” I said, backing off. “Right.”
Pecorino put me straight, “Those are not the only alternatives, might and
right. Some of us take a more subtle view.”
We had a storm from the South this week. Such storms cause considerable
thinning of Douglas Firs and much thumping on the roof as widow-makers and
smaller branches rain down. It was quite the night. The chickens emerged
shaken. Like warriors after a bombardment, they didn’t choose to discuss the
experience.
Change of subject: one of the things you learn in tennis is how to judge when a
ball is headed out. In singles there’s no one to tell. You make a judgement
and live with the consequences. In doubles there’s a possibility your partner
may hit the ball when that is not necessary. In your judgement. To warn him
or her you can’t shout, “out,” for that would amount to a call—it’s
impermissible to call a ball out before it has landed—so you need another word.
I like, “bounce,” which is easy to hear and clear, short for, “let the ball
bounce and then we’ll see if I’m right or not.” There are a lot of “bounce”
calls in any human relationship and I’m tempted to suggest the word might have
wider uses so when an issue normally requiring judgement comes up in a
conversation, try using the word “bounce.” Let me know how that goes.
Still on the subject of relationships… lists can be dangerous. On ships, for
example. But also say domestically. I listed in my head all the appliances
that other members of the household may never have used. The toilet plunger is
the simplest instance. In the equal world to which we aspire one might have
thought both of us would have left DNA on the handle. If murder were to be
committed hereabouts and the implement were sent off for analysis, it could be
that only fifty percent of the population would show up in the results but, of
course, if one were to mention such inequality even in this modern era…murder
might result. So…we’ll avoid such lists.
Final subject: British television and football share a tradition of coming to a
small climax at Christmas. Not so hereabouts. No soccer or television at all
hereabouts. I mentioned this to my new tennis partner, who heads a local t.v.
station. He didn’t seem surprised. I’m apparently not his target market. And
what is our alternative? On New Year’s Eve we watched, “All About Eve,” which
seemed appropriate. My goodness Marilyn Monroe once was young. Afterwards
there was a program about sound recording which…do not laugh…turned out to be
interesting. Annie Lennox had lots to say, so—ignoramuses that we are—we
looked up who she is. She was in a group called the Eurythmics. Some of you
will now be feeling as snooty as a chicken. I bet you snoots don’t know that
the group’s name came from form of dance in which those who first performed
“Rites of Spring” were trained.
Annie grew up in Aberdeen and went to London to study the flute and the
harpsichord. I imagine the latter were in short supply in Aberdeen. “You’d
like to learn to play what now?” Perhaps Aberdeen has more culture than was
revealed by our one night’s stay in a hotel near the airport. Maybe Aberdeen
is the harpsichord capital of Europe? I made a mental note to ask the chickens
about Scottish harpsichord history. I’ll let you know if there’s any response.
David Ritchie,
Portland,
Oregon------------------------------------------------------------------
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