[lit-ideas] Sunday Twofer
- From: David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sun, 8 Jun 2014 14:23:55 -0700
Wensleydale has a sour crop, which is not good and can't be comfortable. It's
probably innate, an accident of birth. The treatment is to hold her upside
down and massage the lump, feed her rice, hope for the best. The rest of the
chickens seem unconcerned about her welfare, but it's hard to tell. What they
are up in arms about is the recent "Scientific American" article which
suggested chickens are more intelligent than had been thought.
"Had been thought by who?" asked Pecorino.
"Whom," said Wensleydale.
"Rude," said Cheddar. "That's what I call it."
Wensleydale puffed up, "Correcting grammar is not rude; it's a duty."
"Speciesism," said Rocky. "That's what that is. We should lobby for
legislation in defense of our reputations, or at least try to raise awareness
of fowl."
"Not on a day like this," said Cheddar, who was settling into sunbathing.
"It's a sun day."
Rocky saw a breach to step into; leadership was needed. "God, I wonder if I
might trouble you for information. Who exactly is our congressperson?"
"Mine is Suzanne Bonamici. Lives just over there. But you haven't got one," I
explained. "They don't represent chickens."
"Well, what about a senator?"
"Same answer. I don't think Wyden's a chicken man. And Merkeley...well he's
running for re-election. You could try to make it a campaign theme. His
opponent's a neurosurgeon, Monica Wehby. She might see fowl reputations as an
issue she could use."
Mimo joined in, "There should be a law that chickens must have politicians to
represent them."
"You can't make a law until you have someone to represent you in a law-making
body. Bit of a chicken and egg problem," I suggested.
"No, no, no" they all agreed. "Eggs don't come into it."
"I have Libertarian leanings," said Wensleydale. "If we want to run near pools
then we should have that right. Liberty and gravel for all."
"Hear, hear," they chorused. "Liberty for all... except hawks."
"Hawks, hawks," Cheddar was up and running. "Where?"
"Freedom for the pike is death for the minnow," I said, quoting Mill.
Appenzeller wanted to know what's wrong with running near water.
"It was a 'for instance,'" said Wensleydale, sounding tired.
Two more, boys? A story while I pour? Fine. An Irishman, playing golf? And?
...We'll let them sit a moment, the keg's a little lively. What was it the
caddy says? An elephant? Where was this course? Galway? Why didn't I guess?
I hate those hidden water hazards; you hit your best drive of the day and you
look down at the little diagrams (which are always too small to be helpful)
when you can't see where the ball has landed, and there's this thin blue line,
which means they've hidden a stream right in the middle of the fairway, which
is absolutely not fair at all, in my humble opinion. Your beers, gentlemen.
And the elephant says what again now? To the lady? You never mentioned a
lady. You did not. You're absolute shite at jokes. Oh...a nun *on* the
elephant. Another customer. Hold the rest till I get back.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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