[lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Wotsit

  • From: Ursula Stange <ursula@xxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: "lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Sun, 20 Jul 2014 15:05:28 -0400

I hope this is all coming out in a book someday.   The Chicken Diaries.    
Cheesy Chickens.    Chickens in Charge.   The Chicken Whisperer.    Hmmm.   
Maybe there's a reality show in their/your future?    I'd pay to see it....

> On Jul 20, 2014, at 2:14 PM, David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
> 
> Seared into my memory, for reasons we don't need to go into, is a line from 
> Checkov, "My dog eats hazelnuts." At least that's how I remember it. Could be 
> that his dog actually ate apricots?  Which brings me to my point: people keep 
> asking, "Do your chickens eat buffalo... or bananas... or crow?" There's 
> widespread curiosity about what chickens eat. I once believed they'll eat 
> just about anything, but no; they've gone off weeds.  I fear we may have 
> spoiled them, turned them into the kinds of beast who eat high up the food 
> chain, at the popcorn end of things.  I was surprised to find that slugs move 
> with impunity within their compound. They still eat worms but apparently they 
> leave mucky slime slaughter to ducks.  They are however hostile to crows.  
> One tried to land this week, which caused the charge of the light brigade.  
> "Forward girls, beaks at the ready."  The crow took one look at our onrushing 
> threesome and took off, caw-ing as he or she gained altitude.  "The water 
> melon rind is ours," agreed the girls, triumphantly, and walked away.  
> 
> I am not a morning person. I'm rarely ambitious in the breakfast department.  
> I know what I like and that's what I make.  But once in a long while, the 
> urge slips o'er to make a Fanny Farmer pancake, with rasps fresh off the 
> bush, blueberries from the fridge, Jarlsberg and syrup.  In a world currently 
> marked by deadly intolerance, let this be a sign that no matter how weird the 
> other may seem, he too is capable of change.  That's the preamble.  Now the 
> tale.  The crow did not go away.  I went to pick the raspberries and he or 
> she... surely it has to be a he... gives me this long lecture about whose 
> terrain I'm straying into and what his crow provo buddies will do to me when, 
> like Blucher, they eventually come up.  I throw a pinecone in it's general 
> direction.  He flies to another branch and begins again.  The man with the 
> blowy machine, who at this time of the morning is manicuring my neighbor's 
> lawn, now switches in and drowns him out.  I feel the urge to replace my 
> decorative garden cannon with something more useful.
> 
> Wensleydale announced this week that she was standing for the Presidency of 
> the European Union.  I told her I thought she was a bit late for 
> registration.  "Well," she said, "I've got to stand for something, else I'll 
> have to sit."  She convinced Appenzeller to sit in.  I came across the two of 
> them having a little chant.  "What," I asked, "is the nature of your 
> protest?"  
> "We don't know," said Appenzeller.  "But I doubt it's about Nature.  We're 
> happy with that."
> "Except for crows," said Mimo, listening in.
> "Something will be revealed," said Wensleydale.
> "This isn't about eggs, is it?" I wondered, having come in search of same.
> "Could be," said Wensleydale.  "We might create an egg mountain."
> "I'll warn the E.E.C." 
> 
> Mimo has taken to staring into the house for long periods, watching us as we 
> go about our business. Now and then you'll look up and there's this curious 
> eye peering in.  I went out and asked her what she was up to.
> "We're not spring chickens," she began.  
> "No," I said, "more like Autumn ones."  This is factually accurate.
> "You jest," she said.  I adjusted attitude.
> "So I was wondering," she said, after a while.
> There was a long pause.  "Right?" I said, encouraging her to finish.
> "What heaven is like."  
> "Heaven?"  
> "High up?  Within the many mansions.  Beyond the top of the stairs?  Where 
> you gods live?."  
> "Oh," I said, "right...  We make our own beds; then we lie in them."
> What can you say? 
> 
> David Ritchie,
> Portland, 
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