The Big Yellow Dog

Straight legs, drippy eyes, faded hearing.
She sits in the grass like an old yogi without a mat.
Pondering, remembering fondly...
days of limber legs, boundless running, dips in the river,
and incessant tennis ball chasing.
She welcomes her maturity.
Fourteen years in this body have
brought her wisdom and deep love.
Nose lifts to the wind...
Inhaling scents of the past and present.
Will she see one more summer?
My human attachment longs for the answer to be yes.
She has no attachment.
She knows better.
Time and bodies are only grand illusions.

                                                                          Lovely Chamois

"So Long" to The General

Stanley, aka "The General"

     As our first year with chickens rounded the corner and headed into the second, we ended up purchasing five more baby female chicks. Our four hens became balder by the week as our dear Stanley continued his amorous behavior with fervor.  Known as “rooster tracks,” hens’ backs become featherless when a rooster frequently breeds them. Did you know that they actually stand on the hens’ backs when breeding? Jeesh! Our four little hens were not enough for Mr. Love.  Hence, the new babies. As summer progressed and the fluffy chicks grew into pullets, and then into hens, we kept them side by side with Stanley and his harem, with a fence in between. They got used to each other quickly and Stanley even patrolled the newbies from his side of the fence. When the youngsters became large enough, we integrated all ten chickens. All was going well until Stanley decided that little Clara would be the chosen one.  Boy did he have a crush on her! Poor girl. We thought she might not make it. Seriously. Back to the other side of the fence the youngsters went. A few days later we noticed two large gashes on Clover’s side. She’s one of the adults. Our four older hens were looking haggard and bald.  Besides Stanley’s high testosterone level, he began attacking Pete and me ever since he witnessed us picking up an escaped hen. Some scary moments ensued for us during egg collection and henhouse cleaning after that…on a daily basis. Something had to change.

     I had looked a few months earlier for someone, anyone…who might want a large, red, aggressive and amorous rooster. As you can imagine, that person did not exist. So after our failed hen integration, I suggested that Pete ask our hay guy if he might want a rooster. He had a farm full of virgin hens. Surprisingly, he said “Yes!” He actually wanted a rooster because his “hens needed some teaching.” Apparently they didn’t know how to roost in the henhouse at night. If Stanley knew how to do anything, it was to teach hens. We called him “The General” because he operated in a military fashion and took his job very seriously.  Despite all the breeding, the hens actually seemed to adore him. He protected them, fed them right from his own beak, and ushered them in to roost precisely one hour before sunset.
     As much as we revered and loved our incredible rooster, he had to go. It was the perfect situation at the new farm. He’d have a job to do and would not end up the featured guest on someone’s Saturday night dinner table. Pete loaded him into a large dog crate and drove our red general to his new digs. A large number of hens awaited his arrival, I’m sure not quite aware of what Stanley’s presence would mean for them.
     A week later upon stepping out of his truck at the hay farm, one happy red rooster greeted Pete and strutted around as though he owned the entire farm. His full-feathered hens looked content as well. Our farmer friend loves Stanley already and is pleased with the job he is doing. And back home, our hens have new little feather stems poking out of their backs already. Although we miss Stanley's magnificent presence, I am no longer terrified to collect my breakfast entrée each morning. All is well on the farm.