Borders and border crossings are on my mind, which may account for this
piece being more like a “carry on” than a “hereabouts.”
Quite what happened in this clip is not clear to me—I don’t speak the
language-- but the soldiers seem to be hitting one another with folded flags.
What an advanced form of warfare: channel violence into ritual and keep the
weaponry soft!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P92ohWrCXy8 ;
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P92ohWrCXy8>
If you haven’t seen Michael Palin on the retreat ceremony, do. It may
take your mind off the fact that people from the two countries are currently
shooting at one another, killing one another and…destroying trees. Buried in
the New York Times story about funerals (yes, I noticed my own choice of
words), is the fact that Pakistan is threatening to, “lodge a formal complaint
against India at the United Nations, accusing it of ‘eco-terrorism’ over the
bombs that damaged several pine trees.” Eco-terrorism!
One of the events to be contemplated when I walk Hamish is the
overflying of fighter jets. In case there’s some military value to the
information I won’t say when this occurs, but hereabouts there’s a window in
the landing pattern of civil planes, a temporal gap that allows fighters to go
scooting out to sea to practice whatever it is they practice. All that varies
is the formation, sometimes two and two, yesterday three in a line and then two
and two.
As we walked in San Diego last weekend, we saw three naval Lear jets
land, observed personnel playing round their own golf course, noted that those
who are able to afford homes near the ocean seem to include retired naval
personnel.
The day after I wrote of Mimo’s return to equal status, she emerged
once again henpecked. But thereafter, she’s been on an upward curve. When
they doze the chickens often perch in a two and one formation. It’s to do with
the way the wind blows and the shelter they get. No doubt once I close the
door, things shift. But each evening Mimo has been part of the two, not the
one. And the other day I caught her strolling alone looking for all the world
as if she knew that Karl Lagerfeld had died and an opening has emerged in the
cast of the world’s fashion glitterati. “I am a muse and I am amusing. Look
at me, what do you see? Hot poo!” I did my version of the border ceremony
walk. You could see her taking notes.
I had imagined when snow fell that the whiteness dissolving would wash
the chicken shit away., saving some of the usual sweeping. But no. Away went
the white blanket and evidence of chicken presence emerged, “fresh frozen
defrosted,” as the supermarkets in California were wont to describe fish.
Isn’t that a weird term? “Fresh frozen defrosted?” Try to imagine people
using it to sell fish in say France or Switzerland.
In America people say that small nuisances are “chickenshit,” the sort
of thing the army commands you to do when the golf courses become too crowded
and there’s no border preening on the docket. “O.K., we want you, you and you
to whitewash stoness. The others…practice hitting one another with flags.”
Each time we go towards the door Hamish thinks, “Squirrels” or “Invade
Russia.” Burst out of the door, bark at whatever is leaving a smell underneath
the deck, get right on with the invasion or herding or… whatever. When it
turns out I’m only feeding and watering the chickens or carrying stuff to the
garbage or recycling, off he runs on his rounds, hoping that when he’s done
more work will be made available. I think I should buy him a llama to play
with or something of that ilk. Maybe some goats?
You know what they need on the India/Pakistan border? Collies. Keep
everyone herded onto their side of the line. And happy…ish.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
