My father's headed for a week of golf at the Intercontinental Aphrodite. It's
five star, so I imagine they have all amenities... goddesses driving
lawnmowers, that sort of thing. "Best aim carefully," I advised needlessly.
"Clobber Aphrodite's tractor, you never know what might ensue."
At breakfast L was on the phone with J. She interrupted to say that a chicken
was going over the fence. I looked all over for the alarm button, the klaxon
or siren... realized I wasn't in that movie. So I stepped outside and saw
Peccorino flying away. I crossed the patio, opened the gate and walked towards
her. She crouched in a submissive pose, made no attempt to run.
"Whoops."
"Whoops is right."
"I made a mistake, didn't I?"
"Well," I said, "it depends on your views on, if you'll forgive a vulgarism,
harikiri. Inside the fence, comparative safety, out here...all red in tooth
and claw."
I picked her up, walked her through the gate, let her go. She flew some
distance, reflected quietly, returned for a chat.
"How do you mean, red in tooth and claw?"
"The fence keeps dogs and coyotes out. It won't bother a raccoon or prevent
hawks from diving, but it will reduce the number of threats to you and the
girls."
"It's not there to keep us in?"
"You've proved it's quite easy to go over. Tell the others, if you wish. Go
explore the wider world...and die."
"You won't mind?"
"Of course we'd mind," I said, "but we can't prevent it."
"Change of subject," said Peccorino. "Go easy on the lettuce. If I wanted to
eat old lettuce, I'd 've been born a slug."
I thought this was a bit uppity, but given the damage to her dignity, I let it
pass. To reinforce the message, I warned her that our dog, is exceptional.
She nodded. There was a moment or two of silence. The other chickens came
running up.
Mimo, "Where *were* you?"
"Here and there," said Peccorino, vaguely.
"What's the subject of conversation?" Cheddar seemed eager, less disconnected
than usual.
"Dogs," I said, looking Peccorino in the eye. She nodded slightly.
Instructing others in how to hop the fence was not on her agenda.
"Good," said Rocky, pushing herself forward and fluffing with
self-importance,"because we'd like to know more about this sphere you throw.
What's that about?"
"The ball?"
"We're not interested in what it's called. It's the attraction of the thing we
can't see."
Mimo, "We want to know why he doesn't swallow it."
Cheddar had her counter-argument ready, "*We* don't eat everything."
"Especially when it's lettuce," said Peccorino.
Appenzeller, "Rats, for example."
"No, no," general agreement, "can't each rats."
Rocky had a theory, "Is he some kind of gourmet?"
I shook my head, "I don't think you would describe our dog as a gourmet.
Though he does like scraps."
"And hard bread," said Cheddar. "He steals it."
"I'll have a word."
Rocky turned to the others for confirmation of her own veracity, "Normal
animals swallow whatever they get in their mouths."
"Except lettuce," Peccorino repeated.
"Yes, yes. Except lettuce."
Appenzeller, "Is he practicing maybe, for when he catches a mole?"
Mimo,"The cats practice. We've observed them."
"Indeed they do," I've said.
Cheddar offered, "The crows think he's whining."
"What?"
"They say they've seen gods sit outside and drink, then spit the liquid out.
It's called 'whining.'"
I didn't bother to correct her, "People do that, yes. But not dogs. He just
likes exercise...running up and down the hill."
"Reeeeeaaaaaly?"
"Yes. The dog enjoys running up and down."
"For no reason?"
I knew this would be hard to explain; chickens are not into gyms and so on.
"Maybe it's a natural hunting thing? Or to keep in practice for when the sheep
arrive."
Mimo, "Sheep?"
Appenzeller, "He hunts?"
"His ancestors did. And no, we're not getting sheep."
Peccorino, "How far back were these ancestors?"
"Ages ago. The dog's on your side now."
Mimo, "Are you sure?"
"I am. The only thing he's ever hunted were moles."
"Not rats?"
"No, unfortunately. That's more of a terrier thing."
"Terrier?"
I'd had enough, "Don't hop the fence, is my advice."
"Or," Cheddar wanted the last word, "if you do, take whine with you."
Appenzeller scoffed, "Too heavy to carry."
They all walked over to take their measure of the ball and to puzzle whining
out. Mac ran forward to claim his prize. As usual he used his border collie
genetic inheritance to avoid contact with any of them. In spring sunshine,
they sat down to preen.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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