Archive of Past News of the Farm:
A Karmic Bite November 9, 2010 |
A Karmic Bite
November 9, 2010
Greetings Friends of the Farm,
I
get a lot of chicken questions. A frequent one is the "poTENtial" for
another family pet to get jealous and decide to oust the feathered pets
in unspeakable ways....the most unspeakable being the delivery of Henny
Penny (oh so sweet and adorable) to the back door, as an offering to the
humans. A dead Henny Penny of course....for hens don't tolerate the
procurement and delivery system very well.Most of these questions focus on dogs. Generally my quick answer is that dogs are not compatible with chickens. Oh yes, there are those miracle stories and photos circulating over the Internet showing dogs nuzzling chicks in an affectionate manner, and while I believe that is a possibility, common sense tells me that the majority of Fidos become hunters when the prey is brought right into the back yard and treated "better" than they. In their defense, that just ain't right!
So, often, Fido becomes a sneaky hunter, calling up his primordial temperament and work ethic. You know he secretly detests those fuzzies that the People are fawning over. They ply them with feed and leafy scraps that he wouldn't have (yuck) but it doesn't matter, he should not be replaced by these cackling trophies.
Which he will, at first chance, deliver, in a state appropriate for shelf display.
I know this by a long-ago experience. I was a school teacher in a small town and had, in addition to husband and toddler, an eager-to-please German shepherd dog, named "Juno." The town was almost famous for the breeding of championship-worthy White Leghorn chickens. Almost every home had a flock. Except us.
One day, Juno (the goddess of love,) brought home one of those chickens, and since dogs rarely eat their catch -- preferring to trade for favors from the Alphas they know -- she delivered the hen dead, but whole. Horrified, and not relishing going door to door all over town to find anyone who had lost a hen -- and to try to make secret amends -- we tied the hen around Juno's neck (she was an outside dog, if that makes this better), and she wore that hen for five days. Oddly, there wasn't any bad odor associated with our discipline, yet. Juno's demeanor throughout her ordeal showed that she had truly learned the lesson -- before our gagging could start, thank goodness.
Now cats are another situation. A cat will indeed catch and eat baby chicks, and be shocked to think that they should share such tender morsels. They are very self centered about their hunting and not out to please people. Furthermore, trophies are not their things. Generally, however, they restrict their safari tendencies to chicks, and leave grown hens alone.
Our dearly departed Tubby J. Tupelo was one such cat, but in reverse: he didn't bother the chicks. But secretly, he detested the hens and was jealous over any attention we gave them. As a hen walked by him, he'd stick out a paw and swipe at her. The hen would squawk and leap into the air, and he'd be satisfied.
We haven't had a cat since Tubby, as no cat could ever match him. So we content ourselves with the semi-feral cat, "Little Buddy."Â LB belongs to our neighbor on the other street and she says his real name is "Saunders," but we didn't know that when we first met him, so over here he is LB and over there, Saunders.
He's a sweet shy fellow, and comes up on our back porch, sits down with his little paws folded in front of him, and waits to see if I have a treat for him. Since there is no commercial cat food in our house, he knows that the treat will be a spoon-full of grass-fed meat, a cracked hen house egg, or just a few kind words.
The other day was looking like a good day for Little Buddy. I had a soup bone with a bit of meat on it and no particular plans for it, so I carried it out to the porch.
You know how a cat will look at you as you talk sweetly to him: he'll squeeze both eyes shut...you just know that he is a nice cat. That's the way LB greets me, but first, as I come out the door, he backs away as if I'm going to tie a dead dog around his neck or some other horrible thing. I bend down to his level and wiggle the bone and meat at him, he creeps closer, always looking up at me to detect any tricks, and finally, I lay the offering in front of him.
He sniffs it, and prepares to really enjoy it, blinks at me (a thank you?), sniffs it again, and suddenly...
Babette! the protein-craving White Leghorn pet hen, bounds around the kitchen garden fence, eyes the prize and zooms up the steps, snatches the bone and tears off with it. Little Buddy backs up at double speed, shocked out of his ninth life, and simply stares at her. A stare beset with the unfairness of life, totally bereft.
(Above, the villain-ess, Babette, her comb blurred by the frantic pecking, her feet besmirched by digging in mud, is fixing to take her catch down the stairs so she doesn't have to look at that pitiful Little Buddy out of one eye and, out of the other, my disapproval...but her joy will be short lived, for Spotty is on the way.)
Babette didn't get to enjoy the treat for long as Spotty Dottie came up, and thrilled at the prospect, seized the the prize from Babette, who burbled a bit, but decided to go to the source (the back door) and petition for more.
But more was not to be had. Treats are rare, and life can be hard. And karma can bite you back even in the present time.
Little Buddy retreated from this arena and I haven't seen him in days. But if most cats are like him, don't worry about your chickens getting molested. It's the other way around.
Carol Ann
PS:
A dinner of a more civilized nature: Sunday night's fundraiser for
HeritageSocietyAustin.org was a big success. An 1800s menu was artfully
cooked by Gina Burchenal and Kristine Kittrell. The weather even decided
to agree...
.
.
(Above: before the guests arrived....Babette was not invited.
Oh, wow, she would have loved the oysters!!)
Oh, wow, she would have loved the oysters!!)
(Above: A soup I made from half of an Australian Butter Squash....delicious! Easy recipe at the farmstand.) Back