I thought to apply for a grant this week from the National Science Foundation.
My subject would be chicken ululation. When chickens are content they ululate.
But this statement is the equivalent of saying that when we humans are amused,
we laugh; it establishes parameters, defines the borders of meaning, but there
is much exploring to be done within these lines. For example Rocky, on
discovering that I had put out food and she was the only one to realize this,
made like she was singing a round, echoing herself.
“I’ve found the food.”
“Found the food.”
“Found the food.”
“And I’m all by myself.”
“By myself.”
“By myself.”
I half thought she might start skatting. Instead, she shat.
Eventually, as with many examples of canon perpetuus, she got out of step with
herself. Possibly because it's hard to ululate while swallowing?
A very different sound was the result of a change of bribery food. To get the
girls in at night we often rattle a chip bag or let them see we have bread to
hand. They come running. “Last one in the coop’s a Cheddar.”
From deep within the coop came, “I heard that. I’ll do you one night
Appenzeller, see if I don’t.”
“Just harmless fun,” Appenzeller suggested. “Bread?”
This last word was directed towards me. Beady eyes were following me about the
coop. It was like being in a room with four Monas Lisa.
“No,” I said, “not bread this evening. This evening you’re getting a fortune
cookie.”
No one in our family much likes fortune cookies so we had four going stale. I
decided to see how one was received and reserve the others for later.
To see how the cookie crumbled, I crumbled it, and removed the inner piece of
paper. I then tossed the food to the girls and read them their fortune.
“You will inherit a large sum of money from an unusual source.”
“Very nice,” said Pecorino. “What’s money?”
“Power,” I said without hesitation. “It means you’ll be getting more of these.”
That was when the ululating really started.
The weather has been changeable, which puts strains on us all. One minute
we’re basking in sunshine, the next we’re sheltering under a bush, cursing the
rain and the dark. At the end of a stretch of cursing, I donned by rain gear
and lured them into the coop with another cookie. By now they knew what to
look for and reacted excitedly to the sound of the cookie cracking.
“Did we inherit again?" Mimo wanted to know.
This one says, “This coming Friday will be an exciting time for you.”
“More cookies on the way!”
“Two anyway.”
I was not able to keep my promise. Somehow one of the two remaining cookies
disappeared. I’m sure no one ate it (I should think it was pretty stale). The
other householders denied clearing it into the bin or the recycling. Maybe I
should write a second grant to investigate how such household magic really
happens? Cameras hidden in the darkness and all that. Flash triggered by the
slightest ghostly move.
The third cookie was given at the end of their exciting Friday.
“How was it,” I asked, “all this excitement?”
Mimo sounded annoyed, “We’re still waiting for it.”
“Maybe,” I proposed, “the message was prophetic in the manner of prophets, one
cookie predicting the appearance of a second?"
Cheddar was up and about, having an active day. “We have reasons to doubt the
veracity of oracles. Personally I passed a very contented day because I have
come to a spiritual sufficiency, a oneness with oneself. But the consensus
among the hoi polloi is that this was a Friday pretty much like any other.”
“No birds of prey circling high above?”
Rocky looked perplexed. “We understood ‘excitement’ to be a positive.”
Cheddar nodded wisely, “Elements of fear are included within the range of
possibilities.”
Pecorino, “I was expecting gobs of fun.”
Mimo, “Or at least gobs of food.”
Appenzeller, “Same thing really, fun and food.”
Cheddar took in a breath to launch into more pontification. I cracked open
the last cookie, which brought on an instant, ubiquitous silence.
Came an awed whisper, “What does it say?”
“Don’t you want the cookie?”
“We do, we do, but what does it say? What will be our fortune?”
“I thought you didn’t believe this kind of thing?” I held the piece of paper
where it caught the light. Everyone remained completely still. I stretched
the pause as long as I thought wise, took in a breath, read, “Your sports team
will be very successful this year.”
Another kind of ululation contains elements of protest.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
