[lit-ideas] Sunday Twofer
- From: David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sun, 29 Dec 2013 09:55:05 -0800
There was more pizza than we could finish so I asked the waitress for a doggy
bag. Then, seeing crusts and thinking of the chickens, I added, "Or a chicken
box."
"How Portland," said J., who is visiting from L.A.
The next morning I distributed most of the crusts to the assembled flock who,
after a puzzled peck or two, decided that they were very much in favor of
pizza. I took the last of it inside, walked through the kitchen and dropped
two crusts in the dog's bowl, which sits outside the other door. While washing
some pans, I then watched the chickens. They finished the pizza and set about
scratching in the gravel. You could see they were thinking that pizza was
easier. Suddenly Mimo had an idea, "Dog food!" They all set off towards the
granite steps.
"Dog food," they nodded as they climbed.
In military theory the term "inside lines," describes the advantage of short
routes to the outer edge of a defensive perimeter. Taking advantage, I opened
the side door and pulled the dog's bowl in. I stood where I could watch what
they would make of this disappearance. Rocky was the first to arrive with
Appenzeller close on her shoulder.
"It's gone!"
"Gone?" echoed Cheddar, hardly believing.
"Funny," said Mimo.
"Not really," Pecornio was put out. "Here one day, gone the next?"
"What could it mean?"
With the authority of one who has discovered a food source, Rocky cogitated.
After a while, she came to an answer, "Dog food," she said, "is migratory."
Cheddar was appalled, "It's gone to Hawaii?"
"Not," said Rocky, "necessarily."
How history is remembered is a complex cultural problem which sometimes depends
on who is doing the remembering, when and why. Sudden uncertainty in the food
supply will shake a community, bringing cherished beliefs into question. I
wasn't surprised therefore to learn that following the discovery of dog food
migration, the flock divided into factions. Captain Mimo and Captain Rocky,
each with a discovery to her name, each got a regular follower. Rocky led the
DDF (Discovery of the Dog Food) party; Mimo, the MFC (Mimo Finds Compost). A
third faction chose to regard the general embrace of freedom as more important
than either discovery. The Day of Unlimited Freedom (DUF) party, consisted of
Cheddar and, for sisterly solidarity purposes only, Wensleydale. (Wensleydale
actually thought that solistices were far more important than explorers'
discoveries, but for a while she kept this view to herself). It was not the
DUF but instead the DDF that proved to be the dullest group, boring everyone
silly with tales of how the original climb up the granite steps had opened up a
new world. I'm told they were starting on this historic theme again,
practically crowing, when Cheddar heard me emerge on the far side of the house.
"Pizza," she shrieked, and took off. For a brief shining moment she led the
running, but then, quite suddenly, she forgot whether she was running away from
something or towards something and so, just to be on the safe side, she dived
under a handy juniper. Though Mimo started from the back, being bigger and
stronger and not averse to bullying others, she rounded the corner first and
was set to gather yet another competitive laurel until she encountered the
slipperiness of the steps. Granite steps are what is known in gardening
circles as a Mistake, very dangerous when wet. Wanting to keep up with her
leader, Appenzeller put in an extra burst of speed, skidded on the smooth
surface, took off briefly and then bounced down the steps in the manner of one
of aviation's early pioneers. Maybe her wake's turbulence, or some glancing
collision, pushed Mimo into the bushes. The MFC's took the lead, momentum
carrying them forward like flotsam on the explosion of water you get when a
dam's sluice opens. With fuss and scattered feathers, they came skidding down.
So disorienting was their erratic progress, however, that by the time they
reached the bottom of the steps, they'd forgotten what their goal was. Thus,
like the tortoise in the tale, Wensleydale, whose idea of hurrying is measured
on a glacial scale, arrived at my feet first.
"Nice weather for the time of year," she offered. "Is that a chrysanthemum?"
"Pizza?" suggested Cheddar, hurrying up.
"Houseplant." I said.
"Is that like a spade?" Cheddar asked.
"I'm hoping it might do better outside."
"He's going to plant a spade," Cheddar explained as the others arrived.
"Look," said Mimo, "peas."
In my other hand I carried a bucket of scraps, which I now scattered. I went
off to put the chrysanthemum in. When I returned
Wensleydale was offering a thought. "Enough with the factions; we've got
plenty food."
"Whaaaat?"
"Whaaaat?"
"Concentrate," said the scruffy White one, "on finding peas."
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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