The most dangerous threat on our trip came from frozen chickens; our hostess
nearly put barbecue sauce on the crab bait. We’d hie’d ourselves off to
Tillamook for a performance of my Civil War play. Afterwards there was beer
and a barbecue. Since the plan for today was to throw some crab rings off a
pier and see what the haul might be, we’d brought with us in a cooler a package
of chicken bits from an earlier, aborted crabbing trip. They had been frozen,
defrosted, kept in the warm for a while, frozen again…quite unfit for human
consumption. Fortunately my daughter prevented an outbreak of “revenge of the
crab."
Today we found there was a minus tide, so there probably would have been
insufficient depth of water under the pier. An additional deterrent was the
fact that Portland had emptied out when the weekend weather forecast was for
triple digit temperatures. I know, I know…other parts of the world cope with
such heat all the time. To evade the madding crowd—yes I know I used that
reference last week—we bagged the crabbing and went for a nice cool hike. Now
home again, I’ve written a warning on the chicken package. “Do not eat me.”
Being threatening is what live chickens often have in mind. Earlier in the
week there was a contretemps over corn cobs. I threw two to the chickens, who
rushed to claim them. Then Hamish appeared, wagging his tail, “Oh good,
cobs.” The chickens were very annoyed; all but Mimo retreated. Hamish is
closing in on forty pounds of muscle. Mimo stood astride her yellow prize and
tried to intimidate him with gobbledy-gook, “Habeus cob-us, maximus me-us.”
Hamish was delighted. A game! After water-biting, play fighting is what
puppies enjoy the most. In the past I’ve called him off every time he’s
thought about playing with the chickens so he gave me a quick look as he
crouched down, ready to spring. I decided, who knows why, to let the action
run. Mimo feinted with her beak and flapped her wings, which is chicken for,
“I’m a lot more dangerous than I seem.” Hamish began to uncoil. Mimo
skedaddled. Hamish stood up, trotted forward, gave both cobs a quick lick and
sniff, went off in search of something more interesting. As he passed the
chickens I believe he let slip words of triumph but I didn’t catch them. The
chickens ran back to the corn and began preening.
Cheddar, “That was close."
Mimo, “Did you see how I stood up to him? It’s all in how you use your neck.”
Appenzeller, “Lose your neck, more like.”
Rocky, “Danger is as danger does.”
Pecorino said nothing. It was a while before they finally got round to eating
the corn.
Appenzeller is the one who crows; we caught her in the act. She looked
embarrassed. Hasn’t crowed since.
We had a good and appreciative crowd for the play. I was asked back.
David Ritchie,
Portland,
Oregon------------------------------------------------------------------
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