The cars passing through the snow
Whisper zisch! zisch! zisch!
Into the ear of the cow-faced woman
In my head, an unpretty yet pleasant face
That would fit in at the local supermarket.
She interprets the sounds of the snow
Into a message I can understand:
It’s not the zisch! that counts;
It’s the silence that swallows everything else,
The occasional beep of a horn,
Surely an annoyed late-comer to work,
The whining police car,
The skidding of brakes found too late,
All of it sipped away
through the snow’s long straws,
crowding in, crowding out everything but itself
and the cow-faced woman in my head,
her lips the color of a glass of chilled merlot.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
Cosmic Porcelain Prank
One of my favorite events of travelling with first-time visitors to Italy is when they go into their hotel bathroom and come out with a puzzled look on their face. With somewhat hesitation, they ask, “What’s that thing beside the commode?”
The answer to this question is easy: “It’s a bidet.”
But that just dodges the issue, so they have to ask, “What is it for?”
Now that is a delicate issue. There’s hardly any polite way to answer that question except maybe to say, “To wash your…” and let them fill in the blank themselves.
A second later, their brain does just that and a big smile spreads across their face, as if they have suddenly been let in on one of the secrets of the universe.
The bidet always leads to a lot of other questions to which I never know the answer, such as, “Where did they come from?” “Who invented them?” “Can you get them in pink?”
Whatever, the final effect is that the person always seem to now enjoy being in on such a delightful secret. The subject comes up again and again during the trip, always with a big smile on their face, a smile that someone gives away that they indeed tried the thing out in a private moment.
The answer to this question is easy: “It’s a bidet.”
But that just dodges the issue, so they have to ask, “What is it for?”
Now that is a delicate issue. There’s hardly any polite way to answer that question except maybe to say, “To wash your…” and let them fill in the blank themselves.
A second later, their brain does just that and a big smile spreads across their face, as if they have suddenly been let in on one of the secrets of the universe.
The bidet always leads to a lot of other questions to which I never know the answer, such as, “Where did they come from?” “Who invented them?” “Can you get them in pink?”
Whatever, the final effect is that the person always seem to now enjoy being in on such a delightful secret. The subject comes up again and again during the trip, always with a big smile on their face, a smile that someone gives away that they indeed tried the thing out in a private moment.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Nasal throw rugs
Several years ago, I had a colleague who was known for one highly distracting characteristic: long nasal hairs. Those hairs sometimes stretched halfway down to his upper lip. I always asked myself why his wife didn’t do something about it. But that may have been a lot to ask for. Rumor had it that she didn’t have much to do with him because he was a chronic womanizer. She simply let him provide her with a nice house and life, and let him do whatever else he wanted as long as he kept up his end of the financial bargain.
When we had staff meetings, I often had trouble concentrating on what our boss was saying because of those long hairs. I had a barely suppressible urge to jump across the table, pull out a pair of nasal hair clippers, and go to work. Of course, I simply had to tolerate the situation.
Instead, my mind busied itself with all the things someone could make out of those hairs. For example, a sweater for his wife’s Chihuahua. Or a pair of net stockings for her. The fellow was nearing fifty and sported clearly salt-and-pepper hair, including those nose hairs. That opened the option of sorting the hairs into piles of white only and black only bunches, and weaving together white stockings for Monday and black stockings for Tuesday, or the opposite. It didn’t matter as long as the hairs got used for a good purpose.
The hairs were also so numerous and dense that they could have been used to make even larger items such as salt-and-pepper throw rugs for the bathroom, or Holstein-patterned living room curtains, or polka dot men’s underwear, even though I suspect they might have been rather scratchy.
Even though I haven’t seen the fellow for 9 or 10 years, I often think about those hairs. They were simply too real and too good (or bad?) to forget. In the depths of winter, I even wonder whether those hairs might have made wool-warm socks. I should have asked the fellow to save up a couple of bags for me to weave together.
When we had staff meetings, I often had trouble concentrating on what our boss was saying because of those long hairs. I had a barely suppressible urge to jump across the table, pull out a pair of nasal hair clippers, and go to work. Of course, I simply had to tolerate the situation.
Instead, my mind busied itself with all the things someone could make out of those hairs. For example, a sweater for his wife’s Chihuahua. Or a pair of net stockings for her. The fellow was nearing fifty and sported clearly salt-and-pepper hair, including those nose hairs. That opened the option of sorting the hairs into piles of white only and black only bunches, and weaving together white stockings for Monday and black stockings for Tuesday, or the opposite. It didn’t matter as long as the hairs got used for a good purpose.
The hairs were also so numerous and dense that they could have been used to make even larger items such as salt-and-pepper throw rugs for the bathroom, or Holstein-patterned living room curtains, or polka dot men’s underwear, even though I suspect they might have been rather scratchy.
Even though I haven’t seen the fellow for 9 or 10 years, I often think about those hairs. They were simply too real and too good (or bad?) to forget. In the depths of winter, I even wonder whether those hairs might have made wool-warm socks. I should have asked the fellow to save up a couple of bags for me to weave together.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Louder than...
One thing I miss here in Germany are the rip-roaring thunderstorms that I grew up with. Those storms offered a little bit of everything: loud and rocking thunder, lightning and its cracking sound, wild wind, rain, sometimes even hail. That is not to say that we do not get thunderstorms here. We certainly do, but they are milder and generally softer in sound compared to the ones in the South. Tornadoes are also relatively rare here. Only a few are recorded each year in comparison to the numerous ones found throughout the States. In other words, storms are much safer here. Still, I do miss the loud, rollicking, cracking thunder of an almost-violent weather storm. In the meantime, I will have to satisfy myself with the pretty rough winter storms we get here, something that usually not a concern in the South, except for the occasional ice storms.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Hardy Threads
The other day I was trying to grasp the concept of nothingness. It left me baffled, especially since nothingness is something in itself. Contradictory? Who knows, except maybe Stephen Hawkins.
While worrying about this, I noticed that I had a plastic coke bottle in my hand and that I was screwing the top on and off, on and off, on and off. Then that captured my fascination. Such a simple design yet universally used and virtually failproof. It left me wondering exactly how may screw-on/screw-off cycles it would take before the top no longer worked. If anyone knows, please let me know.
While worrying about this, I noticed that I had a plastic coke bottle in my hand and that I was screwing the top on and off, on and off, on and off. Then that captured my fascination. Such a simple design yet universally used and virtually failproof. It left me wondering exactly how may screw-on/screw-off cycles it would take before the top no longer worked. If anyone knows, please let me know.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
As in at
One German word I have always found amusing is “Rathaus”. Everytime, I see the word in print, I immediately think “rat house”. Just chalk it up to a puerile mind. By the way, the spoken word is pronounced rot-house, and there’s admittedly nothing all that amusing about that. But if you mistakenly pronounce the word as “rat house,” every subsequent attempt at being serious is a lost cause.
Germans find none of this amusing. They love their “rott-hoiser”, which is the pronunciation of the plural of Rathaus (Rathäuser).
In Germany, these “rat houses” are very serious business because they are basically the same thing as a city hall or county seat in English. They are the place where official business takes place.
But once the mispronunciation “rat house” got centered in my head, there is no getting it out. I often make the mistake of mispronouncing Rathaus when speaking to Germans. Mostly, it leaves them puzzled, and they simply chalk it up to an American who has trouble with German pronunciation. But occasionally, I run into a stick-in-the-mud who takes offense at me murdering their language and making fun of it to boot.
The expression on their face can never be mistaken. It is one of indignation, plus the overwhelming urge to punish me for my silliness. Just imagine the expression of an English teacher whose student mispronounces the word “pious” with a short I, and you get the picture.
I guess what all of this boils down to is this: Some things are very childish, but oh so fun in the right hands.
Germans find none of this amusing. They love their “rott-hoiser”, which is the pronunciation of the plural of Rathaus (Rathäuser).
In Germany, these “rat houses” are very serious business because they are basically the same thing as a city hall or county seat in English. They are the place where official business takes place.
But once the mispronunciation “rat house” got centered in my head, there is no getting it out. I often make the mistake of mispronouncing Rathaus when speaking to Germans. Mostly, it leaves them puzzled, and they simply chalk it up to an American who has trouble with German pronunciation. But occasionally, I run into a stick-in-the-mud who takes offense at me murdering their language and making fun of it to boot.
The expression on their face can never be mistaken. It is one of indignation, plus the overwhelming urge to punish me for my silliness. Just imagine the expression of an English teacher whose student mispronounces the word “pious” with a short I, and you get the picture.
I guess what all of this boils down to is this: Some things are very childish, but oh so fun in the right hands.
Monday, May 10, 2010
1 Horsepower per Hour
One thing I have never appreciated adequately is the floor under my feet. A lot of hard work and creative energy goes into floor design. Function has to be balanced with art. Occasionally I see a floor that really blows me away. It is indeed a thing of beauty, especially when furnishings are kept to a minimum in order not to recklessly hide the thought and success that went into designing the floor. Another thing that makes me appreciate a good floor is the money that went into it. A high quality and properly designed floor doesn’t come without a price. In fact, a very steep price.
Personally, though, I could never convince myself that investing in a floor to be envied was worthwhile. There’s no one I need to impress, and most of the people I know are also like me: They never adequately appreciate a masterpiece floor.
Instead, I invest in pragmatic things, like the hand cart I use to go grocery shopping with. Rather than dragging heavy sacks from the grocery store to my apartment, I spent a few bucks on the hand cart, which I fill up with groceries and simply pull behind me. I know it makes me look like an odd little old man, but, after all, that’s what I am and I am glad to own up to the truth. The only thing that surprises me about it is that it took me so long to buy it.
After worrying about how it might spoil my image, I finally realized that no one else cares. So that was my personal hurdle to get over. Now I can shop for all the heavy things I want, such as two-liter bottles of Coke Zero, something that I never knew that I needed until getting hooked on them during my last trip to Italy with Cousin A. and Sister E. Somehow, everything in life seems to fit into the overall puzzle that is continuously taking shape.
Personally, though, I could never convince myself that investing in a floor to be envied was worthwhile. There’s no one I need to impress, and most of the people I know are also like me: They never adequately appreciate a masterpiece floor.
Instead, I invest in pragmatic things, like the hand cart I use to go grocery shopping with. Rather than dragging heavy sacks from the grocery store to my apartment, I spent a few bucks on the hand cart, which I fill up with groceries and simply pull behind me. I know it makes me look like an odd little old man, but, after all, that’s what I am and I am glad to own up to the truth. The only thing that surprises me about it is that it took me so long to buy it.
After worrying about how it might spoil my image, I finally realized that no one else cares. So that was my personal hurdle to get over. Now I can shop for all the heavy things I want, such as two-liter bottles of Coke Zero, something that I never knew that I needed until getting hooked on them during my last trip to Italy with Cousin A. and Sister E. Somehow, everything in life seems to fit into the overall puzzle that is continuously taking shape.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
French Toast
The French Open is just days away, and I hope to catch as many late-day matches as possible. It’s a tournament I have come to appreciate and love. The clay surface is a world unto itself, and only the most coy of players survive. Power doesn’t get it alone. Finesse is called for. We’ll see who’s left standing at the end of the second week.
Of course, some of the best matches occur way before the finals. In fact, the finals can be a bit of a letdown after you watch some of the preliminary matches.
Now that about covers my knowledge of French tennis. The only two French players that come to mind are Marion Bartoli and Jo-Wilfried Tsongas. I remember her for beating Henin in Wimbledon a couple of years, and him for the new face he puts on being French. In other words, I remember them for their exceptions rather than for their accomplishments, sort of the way you remember members of your family. The most interesting ones are not the ones that do everything perfectly, but rather the ones that don’t fit the expected mold. They make the best gossip material.
Of course, some of the best matches occur way before the finals. In fact, the finals can be a bit of a letdown after you watch some of the preliminary matches.
Now that about covers my knowledge of French tennis. The only two French players that come to mind are Marion Bartoli and Jo-Wilfried Tsongas. I remember her for beating Henin in Wimbledon a couple of years, and him for the new face he puts on being French. In other words, I remember them for their exceptions rather than for their accomplishments, sort of the way you remember members of your family. The most interesting ones are not the ones that do everything perfectly, but rather the ones that don’t fit the expected mold. They make the best gossip material.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Perfection in Red
Grocery stores and fruitstands here are now offering big beautiful strawberries. Most of the berries come from Italy and Spain. Strawberries from Germany aren’t yet ripe enough for the market. That will take a few more weeks. In the meantime, strawberries will be everywhere: on menus, in pastry, in marmalade and jam. Fortunately, I never get tired of strawberries, nor peaches. So I will probably be treating myself to a basket of strawberries at least twice a week until the season is over. I would love to have a strawberry pie like I grew up with, but the German’s don’t offer that exact luxury. Instead, they have some other strawberry cakes that are OK, but I have to admit that I haven’t eaten one in at least five years. I always come away disappointed. But a basket of fresh, red berries never leaves me disappointed. The real, unadulterated thing. It’s amazing that Mother Nature developed such a perfect, irresistible fruit!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Eating the eaters
I just saw a program about a fish farmer in Africa who has helped to bring the problem of malaria under control. He raises carp in his ponds, and the baby carp fill themselves with mosquito larvae. This has reduced the mosquito population to such a low level that malaria is virtually no longer a problem. I have to commend the farmer on his entrepreneurialism. Anyone who can get the upper hand on mosquitoes is worthy of being beknighted.
I could have used the fellow’s help when I was in Venice last week. Every night, one or more mosquitoes would show up and pester us while sleeping. We slept with the windows open because the hotel had not yet put their air conditioning service into operation for the busy season. Fortunately, the nights were cool enough that an open window made for cool and pleasant sleeping, except for the mosquitoes. By the time I got home, I had mosquito bites on my forearms and face, which were the only parts of my body exposed from under my sheets and covers. The mosquitoes went to work on them. I tried to sleep with all of my body, including my hands and face, under the sheet, but I inevitably exposed some parts regardless how hard I tried not to. So now I look like I have a rash all over my face and my forearms. Next time, I suggest that the hotel set up a small carp pond in their garden. The carp will quickly grow fat from an ample supply of mosquitoes and larvae, just the thing to put on a restaurant menu. That way, the cycle is complete.
I could have used the fellow’s help when I was in Venice last week. Every night, one or more mosquitoes would show up and pester us while sleeping. We slept with the windows open because the hotel had not yet put their air conditioning service into operation for the busy season. Fortunately, the nights were cool enough that an open window made for cool and pleasant sleeping, except for the mosquitoes. By the time I got home, I had mosquito bites on my forearms and face, which were the only parts of my body exposed from under my sheets and covers. The mosquitoes went to work on them. I tried to sleep with all of my body, including my hands and face, under the sheet, but I inevitably exposed some parts regardless how hard I tried not to. So now I look like I have a rash all over my face and my forearms. Next time, I suggest that the hotel set up a small carp pond in their garden. The carp will quickly grow fat from an ample supply of mosquitoes and larvae, just the thing to put on a restaurant menu. That way, the cycle is complete.
Monday, April 12, 2010
6 5 4 3 2....
Hurray! I’m packed! For some reason, it didn’t seem so difficult this time. Perhaps that’s because I gave myself an entire day to get the job done. Usually, I wait until the last minute and then frantically try to put together what I need. This time, I just made it a simple, easy task, or at least a sequence of simple, easy tasks.
One thing I’ve learned over the years is just to pare down the contents of my suitcase to the bare minimum. Once on the road, I rarely miss the niceties that I could have loaded into the suitcase, but then things get so complicated and problematic for me and everyone else. Besides, lugging around a heavy suitcase is just something that a rational person should know better.
Now I can sleep well tonight and then, tomorrow, when the time comes, hail a cab to the airport. Sure, that’s a luxury, but it is also a good step to ensure that the last few minutes before the flight leaves are spent waiting to load the plane, not rushing through the airport to try to catch it before it leaves. I love it when things go as planned!
One thing I’ve learned over the years is just to pare down the contents of my suitcase to the bare minimum. Once on the road, I rarely miss the niceties that I could have loaded into the suitcase, but then things get so complicated and problematic for me and everyone else. Besides, lugging around a heavy suitcase is just something that a rational person should know better.
Now I can sleep well tonight and then, tomorrow, when the time comes, hail a cab to the airport. Sure, that’s a luxury, but it is also a good step to ensure that the last few minutes before the flight leaves are spent waiting to load the plane, not rushing through the airport to try to catch it before it leaves. I love it when things go as planned!
Friday, April 09, 2010
Sudsy
Sometimes life can be so simple. Take washing clothes, for example. It is a chore that I dread worse than about anything. So I put it off, put it off, put it off, until one day, I suddenly do it. It is always unplanned. No regular wash day for me. I just do it when the spirit hits me. And you know what? It suddenly isn’t as dreadful as I had imagined. It’s all very routine.
And sometimes it can be rewarding in a twisted sort of way. For example, my last dog died over three years ago, yet I still find some of their hairs on my clothes. And they are stubborn about being removed. And even if I do remove them, they seem to creep back in somehow. Yet the thought is somehow sort of comforting, and the hairs bring back lots of wonderful memories of chasing rabbits, digging holes under fences, and the terror of getting a dog bath.
Now that is a wash job that was genuinely dreaded and hated. It seemed to be equivalent to putting the poor little animals in a death trap. And they did their very best to escape it. They dreaded it from the beginning until the very last suds were washed down the drain. Yet, afterwards, life seemed more exciting than ever. They ran around and around, wallowed on blankets, the sofa, the bed, anywhere they could find a piece of dry cloth, which also included the pile of clothes that needed to be washed. By the time the dogs had distributed the pile of clothes all over the pantry, I suddenly lost my dread of washing those very clothes. I simply put them in the washer, poured some detergent in, and let ‘em go. Yes, it is all that simple.
And sometimes it can be rewarding in a twisted sort of way. For example, my last dog died over three years ago, yet I still find some of their hairs on my clothes. And they are stubborn about being removed. And even if I do remove them, they seem to creep back in somehow. Yet the thought is somehow sort of comforting, and the hairs bring back lots of wonderful memories of chasing rabbits, digging holes under fences, and the terror of getting a dog bath.
Now that is a wash job that was genuinely dreaded and hated. It seemed to be equivalent to putting the poor little animals in a death trap. And they did their very best to escape it. They dreaded it from the beginning until the very last suds were washed down the drain. Yet, afterwards, life seemed more exciting than ever. They ran around and around, wallowed on blankets, the sofa, the bed, anywhere they could find a piece of dry cloth, which also included the pile of clothes that needed to be washed. By the time the dogs had distributed the pile of clothes all over the pantry, I suddenly lost my dread of washing those very clothes. I simply put them in the washer, poured some detergent in, and let ‘em go. Yes, it is all that simple.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Of Soles and Popes
Pretty soon, two youngish ladies will pack their bags, board the plane, and fly to the land of colloseums and cappuccinos. They better bring comfortable sneakers because the best way to get around is by using your own two feet. Personally, I think I will take a taxi. They need the business.
The two ladies will find temptation waiting for them on every city block. All types of temptations, some for your mouth, some for your body. Fashion is all-important here. Looking good is a way of life. After all, the city of Milan is only a few hours a way.
And not too far away awaits the pope and the lovely St. Peter’s dome. From the outside, it all looks so easy. Just look and see. But if you want to get the best view of all, be prepared to hike up several hundred steps, some through narrow passageways. Only the determined and fit can meet this challenge.
While this is happening, I will take the opposite direction into the church cellar. The bodies of lots of former popes lay there in waiting, a trip through history, a lot of it filled with intrigue and politics. Some popes led very discussion-worthy lives. But I will try not to bore the two ladies with all this trivia. Instead, they will get the chance to stand exactly where Julius Caesar did before he met his fate. So make sure to pack some sturdy sneakers!
The two ladies will find temptation waiting for them on every city block. All types of temptations, some for your mouth, some for your body. Fashion is all-important here. Looking good is a way of life. After all, the city of Milan is only a few hours a way.
And not too far away awaits the pope and the lovely St. Peter’s dome. From the outside, it all looks so easy. Just look and see. But if you want to get the best view of all, be prepared to hike up several hundred steps, some through narrow passageways. Only the determined and fit can meet this challenge.
While this is happening, I will take the opposite direction into the church cellar. The bodies of lots of former popes lay there in waiting, a trip through history, a lot of it filled with intrigue and politics. Some popes led very discussion-worthy lives. But I will try not to bore the two ladies with all this trivia. Instead, they will get the chance to stand exactly where Julius Caesar did before he met his fate. So make sure to pack some sturdy sneakers!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Rose Lips
This one goes out to Cousin A., who, as I only recently discovered, has a natural talent for pig kissing. The surprising thing about this is that she has kept it secret from us all these decades. Now that’s a feat in itself. After all, learning to kiss pigs correctly naturally requires that you have some pigs around. And, as far as I know, Cousin A. does not keep any pigs anywhere except for in her deep freezer, all nicely cut up and wrapped in brown butcher paper. But Cousin A. posed right in front of the camera to kiss a recently cooked pig. I suppose she must have known Mr. Pig prior to his big day on the camphouse table and wanted to give him one last big smack before he got devoured. I dunno, maybe she secretly keeps a pig in the trunk of her car. That would at least explain all those strange sounds her car has been making over the last several years. Whatever, we all want Cousin A. to know that we are now all glad to know about her pig-kissing talents, and we hope she will share it with us more often in the years to come!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
High-Tailing It
Today, I celebrate nothingness. Germany is very good at encouraging such a thing. On Sundays here, no businesses are open, except for restaurants, gas stations and flower shops (!!). Of course, public transportation still runs, so I can get around the city if I want. But there’s nothing open for shopping. So I just enjoy what’s there, and what’s there is nothingness. There is no busily rushing about, no doctor or dentist appointments, no shopping for food or household items. No government or bank offices are open. There’s a sense of sleepiness, as if the entire city took a strong dose of Excedrin PM.
So I watch TV, and mostly I watch shows about animals. The TV stations here all have zoo shows on the weekend. Lots of stories about monkeys, chimpanzees, gorillas, goats, rhinos, gazelles, and you name it. Shows about lemurs are among my favorites. Lemurs are fascinating creatures: lively, perky, quick, nimble, long-tailed, social, curious, intelligent, almost like humans. At times, I regret that I have to rely on a zoo in order to see them, yet that may be a very necessary evil since their natural habitats are disappearing fast. So, I am glad that at least the zoo can offer them for seeing. Maybe one day, we will find a way to maintain their natural habitats enough so that they can thrive in the wild. Who knows, I might go live with them.
So I watch TV, and mostly I watch shows about animals. The TV stations here all have zoo shows on the weekend. Lots of stories about monkeys, chimpanzees, gorillas, goats, rhinos, gazelles, and you name it. Shows about lemurs are among my favorites. Lemurs are fascinating creatures: lively, perky, quick, nimble, long-tailed, social, curious, intelligent, almost like humans. At times, I regret that I have to rely on a zoo in order to see them, yet that may be a very necessary evil since their natural habitats are disappearing fast. So, I am glad that at least the zoo can offer them for seeing. Maybe one day, we will find a way to maintain their natural habitats enough so that they can thrive in the wild. Who knows, I might go live with them.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
The Definition of Playful
Last night, I dreamed that my little dog VCR was with me again. I was walking down the road when suddenly she appeared next to me, trotting proudly. She always loved being part of the pack when she was alive, and she was a good member. She never had a bad mood in her life and was always ready to overpower anyone with a large dollop of love. Even up to the last few months of her life, she was a playful soul. She enjoyed assuming a pouncing position, which usually meant she was going to pounce on my other dog, Agnes. Agnes always took it in stride. I think she always considered VCR to be her child, who, of course, was to be tolerated even when up to a lot of foolishness. At some point in my dream, I got into bed and she followed me. She curled up in the crook of my arm and immediately fell to sleep as I stroked her.
At that point, I awoke. For a long moment, I was lost in the cloud that forms in my head when I am half awake and half asleep. At first, I was exceedingly happy that VCR was with me again. But then the cloud began to evaporate and I realized that what I thought was VCR was nothing but a pillow in the crook of my arm.
Of course, that left me a little sad. But then I thought back to the entire dream and decided to take those thoughts with me as I went through the day. What a source of happiness!
At that point, I awoke. For a long moment, I was lost in the cloud that forms in my head when I am half awake and half asleep. At first, I was exceedingly happy that VCR was with me again. But then the cloud began to evaporate and I realized that what I thought was VCR was nothing but a pillow in the crook of my arm.
Of course, that left me a little sad. But then I thought back to the entire dream and decided to take those thoughts with me as I went through the day. What a source of happiness!
Friday, March 12, 2010
Fridays
It’s Friday!! I love Fridays. I always feel like I’m a slave that has be set free, if only for a couple of days. Fridays are wonderful from the time I wake up on Friday morning until I actually get off work. Even while I’m at work, I can already feel and smell the freedom that is awaiting me at the end of the day. When I look forward, all I see is a vast, blank field of nothing but freedom. No one telling me what to do or what I did wrong. No boy. Instead, I can do just whatever I want to, no matter whether that is eating a burger or watching scary movies on late-night TV. Fridays are the red carpet to Saturday, and Saturday is mine to shape however I want to, even though I usually choose just not to bother shaping it at all. Instead, I let it shape me. It’s all so wonderful. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. And I have Monday free to. I think it is what I live for. It is enough.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Polecat Cold
Today is a cold, cold day in Munich. Snow is falling again. It’s really quite beautiful. All the anxieties of work disappear when I’m outside in it. Of course, I have to bundle up well to endure it. Fortunately, I have an excellent thick coat that keeps me warm even when the temp is far below freezing.
But I made a small mistake a few days back that came back to haunt me: I left a heavily used handkerchief in my pocket. This is usually no worry, but this time, the handkerchief took on a rank, rotting smell, and everything about the coat smells like a skunk. I need to coat, but I think I will first have to let it hang outside my window and let the snow cleanse away the stink.
But I made a small mistake a few days back that came back to haunt me: I left a heavily used handkerchief in my pocket. This is usually no worry, but this time, the handkerchief took on a rank, rotting smell, and everything about the coat smells like a skunk. I need to coat, but I think I will first have to let it hang outside my window and let the snow cleanse away the stink.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Monday, March 01, 2010
Ohno-Fast and Oh-So-Sloooooowwwww
Now that the Olympics are over, I am going into a bit of withdrawal for winter sports. Those speed skaters scare the hell out of me, yet I can’t take my eyes off of them. It’s beyond my understanding how anyone can move that fast on a slippery surface without falling down and bringing down everyone else around you. But they do. And then to top it off, the most decorated American skater of all has the last name “Ohno”, which is about as amusing bit of irony you could hope for.
Another sport I always find myself watching intently is curling. It is all so bizarre, with middle-aged guys sliding a giant teapot-shaped stone toward some equally big stones. Plus, the guys wear some magical sort of footware (not skates!) that allows them to sail here and there like feathers. Compared to the speed skaters, this is about as totally the opposite you could hope for. But it captures my attention every time. Also, these guys seem to be intent on making a fashion statement. Did you see the pants the Norwegian team was wearing? And then those fancy hairdo-s they were sporting. Some big styling there!
Another sport I always find myself watching intently is curling. It is all so bizarre, with middle-aged guys sliding a giant teapot-shaped stone toward some equally big stones. Plus, the guys wear some magical sort of footware (not skates!) that allows them to sail here and there like feathers. Compared to the speed skaters, this is about as totally the opposite you could hope for. But it captures my attention every time. Also, these guys seem to be intent on making a fashion statement. Did you see the pants the Norwegian team was wearing? And then those fancy hairdo-s they were sporting. Some big styling there!
Monday, February 22, 2010
Into the Cold
I don’t know much about plants, but there’s a sight outside my window that reminds me just how remarkable they are: Here it is in the dead of winter, mid-February, with snow up to our waists for almost two months now, and all of the trees have lost their leaves, so things are looking pretty bare out there. But then there’s the rich, dark green vine extending all the way from the base of a bare birch tree up to its top. So as inhospitable as the elements are to life outside here, a plant is showing that it is indeed true that all is not over until the fat lady sings, and if the vine has anything to say, she won’t be able to sing wide open unless she goes to Antarctica. I’m saying that on the basis of pictures I have seen of the Antarctic. If they are honest, not even a hardy vine can make it there, but maybe that’s only because there are no of trees to grow on or because all those penguins nip ‘em in the bud.
Speaking of penguins, what made them decide to inhabit the coldest place on earth, by the way? Is it merely because no one else is there? Or is it only because no one else is there to eat them? Anyway, I guess those penguins are sort of like vines in that they thrive where no one else has a chance. Go you sweet birds!
Speaking of penguins, what made them decide to inhabit the coldest place on earth, by the way? Is it merely because no one else is there? Or is it only because no one else is there to eat them? Anyway, I guess those penguins are sort of like vines in that they thrive where no one else has a chance. Go you sweet birds!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Red, Of Course!
One thing that has always baffled me is nails, as in toe- and fingernails. When I search for a reason why we have them, the answer always comes up to be the same: to scratch. Just think: Evolution spent millions of years to give us something to scratch with. Yet, there’s something slightly frivolous and laughable about scratching, almost like burping.
I wonder if we will have them in a million years from now. Today, we humans do not seem to spend a lot of time scratching, so what’s the need of keeping 20 nails per person (well, in most cases 20)? Now that most of us are lice free (most of the time) and rarely get exposed to poison oak, you just have to ask the question: Why keep them? Perhaps the reason is simply that we need something to paint red, like a firetruck.
I wonder if we will have them in a million years from now. Today, we humans do not seem to spend a lot of time scratching, so what’s the need of keeping 20 nails per person (well, in most cases 20)? Now that most of us are lice free (most of the time) and rarely get exposed to poison oak, you just have to ask the question: Why keep them? Perhaps the reason is simply that we need something to paint red, like a firetruck.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Road Home
(Chapter 15 and the Final Chapter of the book "The Chicken Who Didn't Know Where To Lay Her Eggs")
Even though Shellie hadn't had any idea of what to do on her first day as a mother, she had gradually gotten the hang of it. Within a couple of days, she had learned to tell the ducklings apart, despite their almost identical black-and-yellow markings. Over time, she had even learned to understand their little duck language.
She had taught them how to do the many things a farm bird needed to know to survive. She had taught them where to find chicken pellets and how to catch earthworms. She had taught them how to keep a close eye out for the cat and the fox, and where to run if they ever saw one.
Shellie had never realized that motherhood could be so time-consuming. She soon found herself spending almost all of her time with her babies and little time with Paula. Eight ducklings were a lot of babies to keep a close eye on. She had soon learned that she couldn't look away for even a short moment, because one or the other of the babies would roam off by itself. Keeping them all together was like herding butterflies.
Shellie often thought about the many good times they had had together. She particularly remembered the first day Paula had brought home a small, shallow plastic swimming pool, placed in the back yard and filled it up with water. Paula had made a little platform on the outside and inside of the pool using red house bricks. She had sprinkled corn in the water. The kernels had sunken quickly to the bottom of the pool.
Paula had then picked up the ducklings, only a few days old at the time, one by one and placed them in the pool.
At first, Shellie had been extremely alarmed. She thought Paula had lost her mind. Shellie was afraid her babies would drown.
But these babies didn't drown. They swam. As soon as they touched the water, they knew what to do. They floated like large, golden dandelions across the water. They started kicking their feet and sailing across the pool from one side to the other. It was at that point that Shellie had realized that her babies would never be quite like her. It was both a sad and a fascinating realization. She had suddenly felt they were hers but they would never belong to her.
The ducklings had only been in the water a few moments when they spotted the kernels of corn on the bottom. One after the other, they began to dive and fetch the corn. After each dive, they swam back to the surface, lifted their heads straight up in the air, and swallowed the corn. Then they dived for another kernel. It appeared to be the most natural thing in the world to them.
Over the next hour, the ducklings discovered the platform. They learned to get all the way out of the pool, run around in the yard, and the climb back up on the brick platform and jump back in the water. They did it again and again, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups.
After that day, they spent many hours in the pool each day. It was undeniably their favorite place in the entire farm yard. Shellie always stood at the edge. She had to admit that it looked like fun, but she knew that a pool of water was simply no place for a chicken. She reconciled herself to being a mother at the edge.
######################################
Several months later, when the ducklings were almost fully grown, Shellie came into the kitchen. It was the first time in a long time that she had dared risked leaving the ducklings. But they were finally old enough to look after themselves.
Their baby down had turned into feathers, and they could now fly as well as they could swim. Their bills were fully developed into long flat tools that were perfect for catching things in the water. About once a week, Paula poured a bucket of minnows and other small fish into the pool. The ducks would immediately dive after and catch them, until not a single fish was left. Shellie would stand at the edge of the pool and marvel at their speed and agility.
Shellie found Paula sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the old photo album again. Shellie had only seen her look at the photo album one time before. Like the first time, Shellie noticed that Paula smiled at times and looked very sad at times.
Paula took a long, slow, deep breath. She looked at Shellie and said, "They went to a baseball game that evening...."
She turned back to the photo album. She placed the fingers of her right hand on one of the pictures and let them rest there for a very long minute.
Finally, she looked up and sighed. She slowly closed the album, took it over to the cabinet and put it back up on the shelf.
She turned to Shellie. "Come on, girl, let's all go fishing. It's time for us to let the future take us where it will."
Shellie's eyes lit up. She wasn't sure what Paula meant about the future, but she was more than ready to go fishing. She hadn't been in months, not since the ducklings had arrived. She had simply been too busy.
Paula and Shellie went out to the garage. Shellie saw that all of the ducklings were over in the pool. Now that they were almost grown, the pool was getting too small for them. Shellie thought that Paula should buy them a much larger one, maybe even build a permanent one for them in the middle of the yard and fill it with fish which they could catch whenever they wanted.
Paula got her fishing gear ready and called Dingo.
Dingo was out in the field looking for rabbits. When he heard Paula call him, he quickly came running toward the house. He, too, was ready for a fishing trip.
Shellie watched him running. She thought about what a good dog he had been with the ducklings. He had never tried to chase or catch them. Instead, he had always been highly protective of them. He never let Sigourney or any other cat get near them.
When he was a couple of hundred yards away, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. He let out a sharp yip.
Shellie looked in his direction.
There stood a large rooster. It was Crowster.
Crowster stood up as tall as he could, stretched his short neck in the air and crowed. It was an extremely loud and crackly crow. It was a crow that seemed to shatter the air like a wooden post would shatter a large glass door.
Dingo pulled his ears back flat against his neck. He turned and ran toward Paula, yipping over his shoulder all the way.
The ducklings heard him, too. They jumped out of the pool, and waddled as fast as they could over to Shellie.
Crowster began strutting toward the house just like the first day Shellie had seen him months ago at April's house.
Shellie wondered how he had found their house and why he had suddenly showed up. The last time she had seen him, he had been in April's yard.
He still filled her with fear, and he did the same to Dingo and the ducklings.
Shellie, the ducklings, and Dingo crowded together behind Paula's legs.
In a gentle tone, Paula said, "All of you quit acting so silly. It's just Crowster. He's not going to do anything to any of you. He just looks scary."
Crowster walked directly over to Paula. He stopped about a yard in front of her and just stood there as if to say, "OK. I'm finally here."
"Crowster," Paula said, "why don't you come with us?"
Shellie and Dingo looked up at her in disbelief. The ducklings quacked nervously and pushed and shoved each other to get as close to Paula as possible. They kept glancing at the strange new creature just a few feet from them.
Paula looked at them all crowded together and smiled. "All of you need to relax. Crowster doesn't have a mean bone in his body. He's just trying to find a place that feels like home," she said in a soothing voice.
She took a few steps to pick up the last of her fishing tackle. Shellie, Dingo and the ducklings stayed right at her heels.
Crowster stood there in a kingly manner on his long legs. He cast a sharp, observing eye on them all, as if the farm yard and everyone in it belonged to him.
Shellie wondered how someone who had just showed up at a place for the first time could be so confident. Every time she went to a new place, it took her a long time to learn her way around and feel comfortable.
Paula turned to them all and asked, "Ready?"
She set off by foot down the road to the pond behind the house, figuring it was best since it had no gators.
Shellie and Dingo ran along directly at Paula's heels. The eight ducklings followed in a cluster behind Shellie and Dingo, and Crowster brought up the rear.
The walk to the pond took about half an hour. Along the way, Shellie, Dingo and the ducklings kept glancing over their shoulders to keep a close eye on Crowster. He simply held his position, as if it were his job to keep them all together. He took long, marching strides with his head held high.
When they got to the pond, Paula didn't get in the boat like she usually did. Instead, she took her fishing chair out of the boat and placed it on the dam of pond, right near the water. Shellie, the ducklings and Dingo all gathered around her. Crowster stood a close distance away and watched. All of this was still very new to him. He had never been fishing before.
Paula sat down, got her fishing rod ready, and opened the can of worms. She took out a long, fat worm.
Shellie looked at Paula eagerly, expecting her to offer her worm like she had always done in the past.
But she didn't. Instead, she dangled the worm a couple of feet over the ducklings heads. The ducklings instantly spotted it and started jumping upward, trying to grab it as well as they could with their short legs. At that moment, Shellie realized that chickens were much better at jumping than ducklings were. She cast a look at Crowster's long legs and bet that he would not have had any trouble jumping high enough to get the worm.
Shellie had no idea what Paula was doing. This was very unusual behavior on her part. Suddenly, Paula tossed the worm toward the water. It flew several feet out, hit the surface with a small splash, and sank.
Before Shellie knew what was happening, all the ducklings jumped into the water. They frantically started searching for the worm. When they couldn't find it on the surface, they started diving.
Shellie watched them with fascination. They seemed to know exactly what they were doing. They kept diving deeper and deeper, sometimes so deep that Shellie couldn't see them anymore. The ducklings seemed to have no fear of the pond water. They seemed to be perfectly at home there.
Paula then threw the whole can of worms, except one, out into the water as far as she could. The ducklings started diving and chasing after the worms. Before long, the ducklings were way out in the middle of the pond. By that time, they were finding other things to eat in the water besides just worms. Some even caught little fish like they had done in the little pool in the yard.
They kept diving and swimming in ever bigger circles.
Paula turned to Shellie and said, "They have a new home now, Shellie. Your job is done. You've been a good mother."
Paula offered Shellie the one last worm she had saved. Shellie looked at it. Somehow, it looked different from all the other worms she had ever eaten. She pecked at it twice, but realized she didn't have an appetite for worms right now.
Paula picked up the worm and tossed it out into the water toward the ducklings. To Shellie, that also seemed the right thing to do.
Paula sat there in silence for a few moments. Then she began packing up her fishing gear and said, "Time for us to go. We need to let the ducks get used to a real pond."
The four of them walked off the dam and got on the road back home. Paula took the lead, with Dingo and Shellie walking side-by-side behind her. Crowster walked behind them all. He seemed proud to be part of the group.
It suddenly struck Shellie that he was a rooster with very good manners. He was quite unlike her own father, who was always picking fights with other chickens in the farm yard. Crowster seemed to know his place and to respect the place of others.
When they were about 500 yards down the path, Shellie stopped and looked back.
She saw the ducklings swimming and diving. They weren't even aware that Shellie was gone. She saw them chase each other across the water, sometimes flapping their wings and skimming across the surface. They kept diving in the deep water and reappearing on the surface with a fish in their bill.
Shellie knew they were at home.
Even though Shellie hadn't had any idea of what to do on her first day as a mother, she had gradually gotten the hang of it. Within a couple of days, she had learned to tell the ducklings apart, despite their almost identical black-and-yellow markings. Over time, she had even learned to understand their little duck language.
She had taught them how to do the many things a farm bird needed to know to survive. She had taught them where to find chicken pellets and how to catch earthworms. She had taught them how to keep a close eye out for the cat and the fox, and where to run if they ever saw one.
Shellie had never realized that motherhood could be so time-consuming. She soon found herself spending almost all of her time with her babies and little time with Paula. Eight ducklings were a lot of babies to keep a close eye on. She had soon learned that she couldn't look away for even a short moment, because one or the other of the babies would roam off by itself. Keeping them all together was like herding butterflies.
Shellie often thought about the many good times they had had together. She particularly remembered the first day Paula had brought home a small, shallow plastic swimming pool, placed in the back yard and filled it up with water. Paula had made a little platform on the outside and inside of the pool using red house bricks. She had sprinkled corn in the water. The kernels had sunken quickly to the bottom of the pool.
Paula had then picked up the ducklings, only a few days old at the time, one by one and placed them in the pool.
At first, Shellie had been extremely alarmed. She thought Paula had lost her mind. Shellie was afraid her babies would drown.
But these babies didn't drown. They swam. As soon as they touched the water, they knew what to do. They floated like large, golden dandelions across the water. They started kicking their feet and sailing across the pool from one side to the other. It was at that point that Shellie had realized that her babies would never be quite like her. It was both a sad and a fascinating realization. She had suddenly felt they were hers but they would never belong to her.
The ducklings had only been in the water a few moments when they spotted the kernels of corn on the bottom. One after the other, they began to dive and fetch the corn. After each dive, they swam back to the surface, lifted their heads straight up in the air, and swallowed the corn. Then they dived for another kernel. It appeared to be the most natural thing in the world to them.
Over the next hour, the ducklings discovered the platform. They learned to get all the way out of the pool, run around in the yard, and the climb back up on the brick platform and jump back in the water. They did it again and again, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups.
After that day, they spent many hours in the pool each day. It was undeniably their favorite place in the entire farm yard. Shellie always stood at the edge. She had to admit that it looked like fun, but she knew that a pool of water was simply no place for a chicken. She reconciled herself to being a mother at the edge.
######################################
Several months later, when the ducklings were almost fully grown, Shellie came into the kitchen. It was the first time in a long time that she had dared risked leaving the ducklings. But they were finally old enough to look after themselves.
Their baby down had turned into feathers, and they could now fly as well as they could swim. Their bills were fully developed into long flat tools that were perfect for catching things in the water. About once a week, Paula poured a bucket of minnows and other small fish into the pool. The ducks would immediately dive after and catch them, until not a single fish was left. Shellie would stand at the edge of the pool and marvel at their speed and agility.
Shellie found Paula sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the old photo album again. Shellie had only seen her look at the photo album one time before. Like the first time, Shellie noticed that Paula smiled at times and looked very sad at times.
Paula took a long, slow, deep breath. She looked at Shellie and said, "They went to a baseball game that evening...."
She turned back to the photo album. She placed the fingers of her right hand on one of the pictures and let them rest there for a very long minute.
Finally, she looked up and sighed. She slowly closed the album, took it over to the cabinet and put it back up on the shelf.
She turned to Shellie. "Come on, girl, let's all go fishing. It's time for us to let the future take us where it will."
Shellie's eyes lit up. She wasn't sure what Paula meant about the future, but she was more than ready to go fishing. She hadn't been in months, not since the ducklings had arrived. She had simply been too busy.
Paula and Shellie went out to the garage. Shellie saw that all of the ducklings were over in the pool. Now that they were almost grown, the pool was getting too small for them. Shellie thought that Paula should buy them a much larger one, maybe even build a permanent one for them in the middle of the yard and fill it with fish which they could catch whenever they wanted.
Paula got her fishing gear ready and called Dingo.
Dingo was out in the field looking for rabbits. When he heard Paula call him, he quickly came running toward the house. He, too, was ready for a fishing trip.
Shellie watched him running. She thought about what a good dog he had been with the ducklings. He had never tried to chase or catch them. Instead, he had always been highly protective of them. He never let Sigourney or any other cat get near them.
When he was a couple of hundred yards away, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. He let out a sharp yip.
Shellie looked in his direction.
There stood a large rooster. It was Crowster.
Crowster stood up as tall as he could, stretched his short neck in the air and crowed. It was an extremely loud and crackly crow. It was a crow that seemed to shatter the air like a wooden post would shatter a large glass door.
Dingo pulled his ears back flat against his neck. He turned and ran toward Paula, yipping over his shoulder all the way.
The ducklings heard him, too. They jumped out of the pool, and waddled as fast as they could over to Shellie.
Crowster began strutting toward the house just like the first day Shellie had seen him months ago at April's house.
Shellie wondered how he had found their house and why he had suddenly showed up. The last time she had seen him, he had been in April's yard.
He still filled her with fear, and he did the same to Dingo and the ducklings.
Shellie, the ducklings, and Dingo crowded together behind Paula's legs.
In a gentle tone, Paula said, "All of you quit acting so silly. It's just Crowster. He's not going to do anything to any of you. He just looks scary."
Crowster walked directly over to Paula. He stopped about a yard in front of her and just stood there as if to say, "OK. I'm finally here."
"Crowster," Paula said, "why don't you come with us?"
Shellie and Dingo looked up at her in disbelief. The ducklings quacked nervously and pushed and shoved each other to get as close to Paula as possible. They kept glancing at the strange new creature just a few feet from them.
Paula looked at them all crowded together and smiled. "All of you need to relax. Crowster doesn't have a mean bone in his body. He's just trying to find a place that feels like home," she said in a soothing voice.
She took a few steps to pick up the last of her fishing tackle. Shellie, Dingo and the ducklings stayed right at her heels.
Crowster stood there in a kingly manner on his long legs. He cast a sharp, observing eye on them all, as if the farm yard and everyone in it belonged to him.
Shellie wondered how someone who had just showed up at a place for the first time could be so confident. Every time she went to a new place, it took her a long time to learn her way around and feel comfortable.
Paula turned to them all and asked, "Ready?"
She set off by foot down the road to the pond behind the house, figuring it was best since it had no gators.
Shellie and Dingo ran along directly at Paula's heels. The eight ducklings followed in a cluster behind Shellie and Dingo, and Crowster brought up the rear.
The walk to the pond took about half an hour. Along the way, Shellie, Dingo and the ducklings kept glancing over their shoulders to keep a close eye on Crowster. He simply held his position, as if it were his job to keep them all together. He took long, marching strides with his head held high.
When they got to the pond, Paula didn't get in the boat like she usually did. Instead, she took her fishing chair out of the boat and placed it on the dam of pond, right near the water. Shellie, the ducklings and Dingo all gathered around her. Crowster stood a close distance away and watched. All of this was still very new to him. He had never been fishing before.
Paula sat down, got her fishing rod ready, and opened the can of worms. She took out a long, fat worm.
Shellie looked at Paula eagerly, expecting her to offer her worm like she had always done in the past.
But she didn't. Instead, she dangled the worm a couple of feet over the ducklings heads. The ducklings instantly spotted it and started jumping upward, trying to grab it as well as they could with their short legs. At that moment, Shellie realized that chickens were much better at jumping than ducklings were. She cast a look at Crowster's long legs and bet that he would not have had any trouble jumping high enough to get the worm.
Shellie had no idea what Paula was doing. This was very unusual behavior on her part. Suddenly, Paula tossed the worm toward the water. It flew several feet out, hit the surface with a small splash, and sank.
Before Shellie knew what was happening, all the ducklings jumped into the water. They frantically started searching for the worm. When they couldn't find it on the surface, they started diving.
Shellie watched them with fascination. They seemed to know exactly what they were doing. They kept diving deeper and deeper, sometimes so deep that Shellie couldn't see them anymore. The ducklings seemed to have no fear of the pond water. They seemed to be perfectly at home there.
Paula then threw the whole can of worms, except one, out into the water as far as she could. The ducklings started diving and chasing after the worms. Before long, the ducklings were way out in the middle of the pond. By that time, they were finding other things to eat in the water besides just worms. Some even caught little fish like they had done in the little pool in the yard.
They kept diving and swimming in ever bigger circles.
Paula turned to Shellie and said, "They have a new home now, Shellie. Your job is done. You've been a good mother."
Paula offered Shellie the one last worm she had saved. Shellie looked at it. Somehow, it looked different from all the other worms she had ever eaten. She pecked at it twice, but realized she didn't have an appetite for worms right now.
Paula picked up the worm and tossed it out into the water toward the ducklings. To Shellie, that also seemed the right thing to do.
Paula sat there in silence for a few moments. Then she began packing up her fishing gear and said, "Time for us to go. We need to let the ducks get used to a real pond."
The four of them walked off the dam and got on the road back home. Paula took the lead, with Dingo and Shellie walking side-by-side behind her. Crowster walked behind them all. He seemed proud to be part of the group.
It suddenly struck Shellie that he was a rooster with very good manners. He was quite unlike her own father, who was always picking fights with other chickens in the farm yard. Crowster seemed to know his place and to respect the place of others.
When they were about 500 yards down the path, Shellie stopped and looked back.
She saw the ducklings swimming and diving. They weren't even aware that Shellie was gone. She saw them chase each other across the water, sometimes flapping their wings and skimming across the surface. They kept diving in the deep water and reappearing on the surface with a fish in their bill.
Shellie knew they were at home.
Unplanned Motherhood
(Chapter 14 from the Book "The Chicken Who Didn't Know Where To Lay Her Eggs")
Every few weeks, Shellie had dreams about flying. It wasn't the labored, awkward flying of a chicken. It was the fluid, effortless flying of a hawk, a dove, a condor or a wild duck. She dreamed that she was very high in the sky, so high that she passed through the mist that was the lower part of clouds.
The dreams were always pleasant, and Shellie enjoyed ruminating about them long after she woke up. Many times right after she woke, she felt as if she was still soaring through the clouds. She felt weightless and bright, like a ray of light darting through the heavens.
There was one flying dream that Shellie had again and again. In it, she was at least a mile high. The sky around her was bright blue with splotches of medium-sized puffy white clouds. They were clouds of comfort and joy, not clouds of rain.
Shellie enjoyed the sensation of passing through spaces in the air where the warm sunshine hit her directly, followed by spaces where the gentle clouds offered her a few moments of coolness and shade as she flew forward.
In the dream, she was flying over a large lake. It was so large that the wind blew small waves across the surface. Most of the shore was forested. The water washed right up to the trees lining it. But there was one spot about half a mile long that had a beach about 300 yards wide.
The sand was bright white. On the one side, it bordered against the dark green waters of the lake. The small waves crested right before they reached the shore. When they crashed, they sent a thin string of light turquoise foam over the sand.
The other side of the beach was bordered with a craggy cliff about 25 feet high. The cliff was brownish-grey and rocky. Roots of trees stuck out from it. There were several paths worn into it where beach-goers had come up and down the cliff.
About 200 people were on the beach. Some were lying on towels or blankets on the sand. Some were in the water. Some were sitting against the rocky cliff, enjoying the warmth of the stone.
In the dream, Shellie always recognized one cluster of people. It was Paula, Mike, April and Tadpole. Dingo was also there with them. They were on a spot about halfway between the water and the cliff. They had spread out a blanket and placed a large red-and-white cooler with drinks on one corner of it.
Paula and April were dressed in their bathing suits and lying on the blanket. They seemed completely relaxed as they talked to each other. Occasionally, they would sit up to take a sip of their soft drink.
Tadpole was also in his swimsuit. At first, he was just standing there. Then he ran down to the water, dived in, and started playing with a group of children already in the water.
Mike was always sitting there in a beach chair under an umbrella, completely in the shade. He didn't have on a bathing suit. Instead, he was dressed as if he was ready to go to work: shirt, long pants, work shoes and a hat. He looked like being at the beach was a struggle for him. He looked like he wanted to be somewhere else.
Dingo was lying on the blanket beside Paula and April. He also appeared somewhat uneasy about being there. He kept a careful eye on Tadpole. Anytime Tadpole got near him, he would jump up and run back toward the cliff. He knew that Tadpole wanted nothing more than to throw him in the water.
It was always at this point that Shellie woke up.
Shellie had the dream again on a cool night in April. When she woke up, she tried as long as she could to hold onto the sensation of the dream. She was able to make it last for about half an hour. Finally, she got up, went outside with Dingo and welcomed the morning. It was a beautiful morning and the wonderful dream seemed to put a warm glow on everything.
Shellie then went back in for breakfast. Dingo came with her.
Paula was up and cooking breakfast for Mike and herself. The smell of Paula's special pancakes, sausage and heated maple syrup was in the air.
Shellie knew that Paula greatly enjoyed the pancakes. She made them using Shellie's eggs with the slightly garlic flavor. Tadpole also loved the pancakes. Neither Mike nor April were that crazy about them. Both of them felt that pancakes should be made using regular eggs, not ones that tasted like garlic. But they ate them anyway. Now that Paula was back, nobody ever complained about anything she did.
Paula greeted Shellie and Dingo. She put a bowl of corn and toast cut into very small pieces on the floor for Shellie. She also put a bowl of pork and rice there for Dingo. She knew that Dingo preferred chicken and rice, but she wouldn't let him have that if Shellie was in the kitchen.
Mike came into the kitchen. They all ate breakfast together. Both he and Dingo were very loud eaters. They tended to smack a lot and splatter their food around them.
Mike ate only one pancake. With each bite, he got a slightly sour look on his face, as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of bitter-tasting medicine. He ate extra sausage instead.
Afterwards, Mike picked up his keys and left the house.
Paula started washing the dishes.
A few minutes later, Mike opened the back door and poked his head back in the kitchen.
"Come here a minute," he said to Paula. "You better see this."
Paula went outside with her husband. Shellie and Dingo stayed where they were. They usually avoided getting involved in any of Mike's activities. It usually meant day-long trips to various parts of the farm and doing something in the fields. They knew that if they went, they wouldn't get to come back home for hours.
Dingo took his place on his blanket, and Shellie climbed up on her counter perch.
In about ten minutes, Paula came back in. She had a large cardboard box with her.
She brought it over to the counter and placed it down beside Shellie.
"Look, Shellie!" she said excitedly. "I've got something for you."
Shellie was a little alarmed. Paula sounded too cheerful to her. She sounded as if she was only trying to be cheerful.
Paula picked Shellie up. She lifted her up so that she could look in the box.
"Look, Shellie," Paula said. "These are your new children. Those are baby ducks."
Shellie looked closely. She saw eight furry-looking yellow-and-black little creatures. They made strange non-chicken peeping sounds that Shellie didn't understand at all.
Shellie knew what baby chickens looked like and how they sounded. Other chickens in the farmyard regularly hatched a new brood of chicks, and Shellie had a good idea of what chicks did. Shellie had never been a mother herself, but she had a general idea of what it was about. Up to now, though, she had been completely happy being a single chicken without any little ones to worry about.
Paula gently placed Shellie into the box.
"Now don't step on them, Shellie," Paula told her.
Shellie stood there, filled with uncertainty.
"Shellie, you're going to have to take care of them," Paula told her. "They must have hatched some time in the night. But it looks like the fox caught their mother early this morning. All we found were her feathers. The father duck is still there, but he won't have anything to do with them. You're going to have to be their new mother."
One of the ducklings ran over to Shellie. Then another, and another. Soon, all eight of the ducklings were crowded around Shellie's feet.
Shellie had a strong impulse to get out the box and get as far away as she could. The ducklings started chirping excitedly. They crowded as close to her as they could.
But then Paula put a metal grill over the box. Shellie looked up pleadingly at Paula.
"Now stay there for a while and get used to them, Shellie," Paula said.
Shellie didn't know what to do. With the grill over her head, she couldn't jump out of the box. And every time she tried to move, she felt ducklings all over her feet.
After a few minutes, the ducklings began to settle down. They gradually stopped chirping and sat down in a tight group underneath Shellie.
Shellie felt her legs growing weary. She was standing in an awkward, uncomfortable position. She wanted to move. But there was nowhere to go.
She finally decided she had to sit down. She bent her legs a little, but immediately felt all the ducklings under her. They didn't move.
Shellie gradually lowered herself a little more. The ducklings still didn't move. If anything, they seemed to crowd closer.
Little by little, Shellie lowered herself all the way. The ducklings shifted slightly around her as she rested her weight on the bottom of the box, but they didn't move away. They stayed packed tight under her and around her.
At least they were now quiet. They seemed to like Shellie.
After about an hour, Paula came back. She looked through the grill and said, "Shellie, it looks like they've taken to you just fine. Now it's time to take them for their first walk."
Paula picked up the box with Shellie and the ducklings. She took it out to the yard. She placed the box on the ground and removed the grill. She gently placed her hand under Shellie, took her out of the box, and placed her on the ground.
Shellie immediately stretched her legs and hoped that that experience was over.
But then Paula started taking the ducklings out of the box and placing them on the ground. As soon as the ducklings hit the ground, they ran straight for Shellie.
Shellie wanted to run away, but Paula placed a hand on her back and held her in place. Pretty soon, all eight of the ducklings were circling around Shellie's feet again and peeping loudly.
Paula finally took her hand off Shellie's back. Shellie took a step. All eight of the ducklings moved along with her. Shellie took another step. The ducklings moved with her again, as if glued to her.
Shellie took very slow steps forward. The cluster of ducklings stayed right with her every inch of the way. They peeped and chirped constantly.
Shellie gradually took bigger steps. The ducklings moved along with her. However, the faster she moved, the louder the ducklings chirped and the nearer they crowded around her. Shellie quickly realized that she wasn't going to be able to get away.
After several minutes of trying different walking speeds, Shellie finally settled into a slow, deliberate walk. The ducklings still stayed right under her, but at least they didn't chirp so loudly and crowd so close.
Shellie gradually started making a circle around the yard. She occasionally stopped to peck at some seeds in the grass. She soon noticed that the ducklings started imitating her, also pecking at the ground.
In the meantime, Paula had poured a cup of chicken pellets on the ground near the backdoor steps. Shellie loved chicken pellets. They were almost as good as corn.
Shellie headed straight for the steps. The ducklings started chirping loudly and ran after her.
When Shellie reached the steps, she immediately grabbed a pellet with her beak. She was very hungry. Looking after ducklings was hard work, she discovered.
The ducklings circled around Shellie. Every time Shellie pecked at the chicken pellets, the ducklings also pecked right where she had.
Soon, the ducklings started picking up the chicken pellets in their little bills. At first, they didn't seem to know quite what to do. The pellets often fell out of their bills before they could do anything with them. But then, one by one, the ducklings discovered that the pellets tasted good. They all swallowed their first pellet. It was just the start.
Every few weeks, Shellie had dreams about flying. It wasn't the labored, awkward flying of a chicken. It was the fluid, effortless flying of a hawk, a dove, a condor or a wild duck. She dreamed that she was very high in the sky, so high that she passed through the mist that was the lower part of clouds.
The dreams were always pleasant, and Shellie enjoyed ruminating about them long after she woke up. Many times right after she woke, she felt as if she was still soaring through the clouds. She felt weightless and bright, like a ray of light darting through the heavens.
There was one flying dream that Shellie had again and again. In it, she was at least a mile high. The sky around her was bright blue with splotches of medium-sized puffy white clouds. They were clouds of comfort and joy, not clouds of rain.
Shellie enjoyed the sensation of passing through spaces in the air where the warm sunshine hit her directly, followed by spaces where the gentle clouds offered her a few moments of coolness and shade as she flew forward.
In the dream, she was flying over a large lake. It was so large that the wind blew small waves across the surface. Most of the shore was forested. The water washed right up to the trees lining it. But there was one spot about half a mile long that had a beach about 300 yards wide.
The sand was bright white. On the one side, it bordered against the dark green waters of the lake. The small waves crested right before they reached the shore. When they crashed, they sent a thin string of light turquoise foam over the sand.
The other side of the beach was bordered with a craggy cliff about 25 feet high. The cliff was brownish-grey and rocky. Roots of trees stuck out from it. There were several paths worn into it where beach-goers had come up and down the cliff.
About 200 people were on the beach. Some were lying on towels or blankets on the sand. Some were in the water. Some were sitting against the rocky cliff, enjoying the warmth of the stone.
In the dream, Shellie always recognized one cluster of people. It was Paula, Mike, April and Tadpole. Dingo was also there with them. They were on a spot about halfway between the water and the cliff. They had spread out a blanket and placed a large red-and-white cooler with drinks on one corner of it.
Paula and April were dressed in their bathing suits and lying on the blanket. They seemed completely relaxed as they talked to each other. Occasionally, they would sit up to take a sip of their soft drink.
Tadpole was also in his swimsuit. At first, he was just standing there. Then he ran down to the water, dived in, and started playing with a group of children already in the water.
Mike was always sitting there in a beach chair under an umbrella, completely in the shade. He didn't have on a bathing suit. Instead, he was dressed as if he was ready to go to work: shirt, long pants, work shoes and a hat. He looked like being at the beach was a struggle for him. He looked like he wanted to be somewhere else.
Dingo was lying on the blanket beside Paula and April. He also appeared somewhat uneasy about being there. He kept a careful eye on Tadpole. Anytime Tadpole got near him, he would jump up and run back toward the cliff. He knew that Tadpole wanted nothing more than to throw him in the water.
It was always at this point that Shellie woke up.
Shellie had the dream again on a cool night in April. When she woke up, she tried as long as she could to hold onto the sensation of the dream. She was able to make it last for about half an hour. Finally, she got up, went outside with Dingo and welcomed the morning. It was a beautiful morning and the wonderful dream seemed to put a warm glow on everything.
Shellie then went back in for breakfast. Dingo came with her.
Paula was up and cooking breakfast for Mike and herself. The smell of Paula's special pancakes, sausage and heated maple syrup was in the air.
Shellie knew that Paula greatly enjoyed the pancakes. She made them using Shellie's eggs with the slightly garlic flavor. Tadpole also loved the pancakes. Neither Mike nor April were that crazy about them. Both of them felt that pancakes should be made using regular eggs, not ones that tasted like garlic. But they ate them anyway. Now that Paula was back, nobody ever complained about anything she did.
Paula greeted Shellie and Dingo. She put a bowl of corn and toast cut into very small pieces on the floor for Shellie. She also put a bowl of pork and rice there for Dingo. She knew that Dingo preferred chicken and rice, but she wouldn't let him have that if Shellie was in the kitchen.
Mike came into the kitchen. They all ate breakfast together. Both he and Dingo were very loud eaters. They tended to smack a lot and splatter their food around them.
Mike ate only one pancake. With each bite, he got a slightly sour look on his face, as if he had just swallowed a mouthful of bitter-tasting medicine. He ate extra sausage instead.
Afterwards, Mike picked up his keys and left the house.
Paula started washing the dishes.
A few minutes later, Mike opened the back door and poked his head back in the kitchen.
"Come here a minute," he said to Paula. "You better see this."
Paula went outside with her husband. Shellie and Dingo stayed where they were. They usually avoided getting involved in any of Mike's activities. It usually meant day-long trips to various parts of the farm and doing something in the fields. They knew that if they went, they wouldn't get to come back home for hours.
Dingo took his place on his blanket, and Shellie climbed up on her counter perch.
In about ten minutes, Paula came back in. She had a large cardboard box with her.
She brought it over to the counter and placed it down beside Shellie.
"Look, Shellie!" she said excitedly. "I've got something for you."
Shellie was a little alarmed. Paula sounded too cheerful to her. She sounded as if she was only trying to be cheerful.
Paula picked Shellie up. She lifted her up so that she could look in the box.
"Look, Shellie," Paula said. "These are your new children. Those are baby ducks."
Shellie looked closely. She saw eight furry-looking yellow-and-black little creatures. They made strange non-chicken peeping sounds that Shellie didn't understand at all.
Shellie knew what baby chickens looked like and how they sounded. Other chickens in the farmyard regularly hatched a new brood of chicks, and Shellie had a good idea of what chicks did. Shellie had never been a mother herself, but she had a general idea of what it was about. Up to now, though, she had been completely happy being a single chicken without any little ones to worry about.
Paula gently placed Shellie into the box.
"Now don't step on them, Shellie," Paula told her.
Shellie stood there, filled with uncertainty.
"Shellie, you're going to have to take care of them," Paula told her. "They must have hatched some time in the night. But it looks like the fox caught their mother early this morning. All we found were her feathers. The father duck is still there, but he won't have anything to do with them. You're going to have to be their new mother."
One of the ducklings ran over to Shellie. Then another, and another. Soon, all eight of the ducklings were crowded around Shellie's feet.
Shellie had a strong impulse to get out the box and get as far away as she could. The ducklings started chirping excitedly. They crowded as close to her as they could.
But then Paula put a metal grill over the box. Shellie looked up pleadingly at Paula.
"Now stay there for a while and get used to them, Shellie," Paula said.
Shellie didn't know what to do. With the grill over her head, she couldn't jump out of the box. And every time she tried to move, she felt ducklings all over her feet.
After a few minutes, the ducklings began to settle down. They gradually stopped chirping and sat down in a tight group underneath Shellie.
Shellie felt her legs growing weary. She was standing in an awkward, uncomfortable position. She wanted to move. But there was nowhere to go.
She finally decided she had to sit down. She bent her legs a little, but immediately felt all the ducklings under her. They didn't move.
Shellie gradually lowered herself a little more. The ducklings still didn't move. If anything, they seemed to crowd closer.
Little by little, Shellie lowered herself all the way. The ducklings shifted slightly around her as she rested her weight on the bottom of the box, but they didn't move away. They stayed packed tight under her and around her.
At least they were now quiet. They seemed to like Shellie.
After about an hour, Paula came back. She looked through the grill and said, "Shellie, it looks like they've taken to you just fine. Now it's time to take them for their first walk."
Paula picked up the box with Shellie and the ducklings. She took it out to the yard. She placed the box on the ground and removed the grill. She gently placed her hand under Shellie, took her out of the box, and placed her on the ground.
Shellie immediately stretched her legs and hoped that that experience was over.
But then Paula started taking the ducklings out of the box and placing them on the ground. As soon as the ducklings hit the ground, they ran straight for Shellie.
Shellie wanted to run away, but Paula placed a hand on her back and held her in place. Pretty soon, all eight of the ducklings were circling around Shellie's feet again and peeping loudly.
Paula finally took her hand off Shellie's back. Shellie took a step. All eight of the ducklings moved along with her. Shellie took another step. The ducklings moved with her again, as if glued to her.
Shellie took very slow steps forward. The cluster of ducklings stayed right with her every inch of the way. They peeped and chirped constantly.
Shellie gradually took bigger steps. The ducklings moved along with her. However, the faster she moved, the louder the ducklings chirped and the nearer they crowded around her. Shellie quickly realized that she wasn't going to be able to get away.
After several minutes of trying different walking speeds, Shellie finally settled into a slow, deliberate walk. The ducklings still stayed right under her, but at least they didn't chirp so loudly and crowd so close.
Shellie gradually started making a circle around the yard. She occasionally stopped to peck at some seeds in the grass. She soon noticed that the ducklings started imitating her, also pecking at the ground.
In the meantime, Paula had poured a cup of chicken pellets on the ground near the backdoor steps. Shellie loved chicken pellets. They were almost as good as corn.
Shellie headed straight for the steps. The ducklings started chirping loudly and ran after her.
When Shellie reached the steps, she immediately grabbed a pellet with her beak. She was very hungry. Looking after ducklings was hard work, she discovered.
The ducklings circled around Shellie. Every time Shellie pecked at the chicken pellets, the ducklings also pecked right where she had.
Soon, the ducklings started picking up the chicken pellets in their little bills. At first, they didn't seem to know quite what to do. The pellets often fell out of their bills before they could do anything with them. But then, one by one, the ducklings discovered that the pellets tasted good. They all swallowed their first pellet. It was just the start.
Learning to Foxtrot
(Chapter 13 from the book "The Chicken Who Didn't Know Where To Lay Her Eggs")
Shellie had her preferences.
For one, she preferred Christmas over Easter. At Christmas, the family was cheerful and the fireplace was warm on cold nights. Relatives came to visit and lots of bits of food were always falling on the floor and ground, just the right size for a chicken to eat.
Easter, however, was a different story.
Although Shellie had to admit that the weather was generally kinder at that time of year, she had learned that pleasant weather could have a downside. For her, Easter was downright strenuous. It was the one and only time of the year that she felt under tremendous pressure. Paula expected Shellie to lay eggs, and to lay lots of them.
Sometimes, Shellie didn't even get a look at her newest egg before the hand of Paula grabbed it away. And as soon as the egg was gone, Paula would say, "Good girl, Shellie. Now you better get back to work. I still don't have enough eggs for the Church Easter Hunt. Plus there's the kindergarten class, the orphanage, and the Ladies Auxiliary Hunt."
At times like that, Shellie wished that Paula didn't have such a good heart. Shellie didn't mind laying an egg every few days, but having to pop them out as fast as coin machine took its toll. She was always glad when Easter was over. She was usually so worn out by the whole ordeal that she would sleep almost three days straight to get back to her old self. About the only good thing she saw about Easter was that it came around once a year and no more. She was at least glad that Paula didn't expect her to lay eggs in different colors.
Shellie also had very clear preferences about a few other days of the year.
She wasn't too crazy about New Year's Eve and the Fourth of July. They were just too loud. People who were otherwise rational beings seemed to lose all their senses on those days. They suddenly started doing things that they would yell at other people for doing at any other time of the year, like having loud parties past midnight, wearing funny heats, singing loudly in public gatherings, and riding around with flags stuck on top of their vehicles.
Shellie particularly disliked firecrackers. She wouldn't have cared so much if all the noise had stopped by sundown. But it seemed that the noise never really got started until sundown. And then it went on until deep into the night and early the next morning. On those nights of the year, Shellie hardly got a wink of sleep. She could even remember times when the sun came up the next morning and those firecrackers were still going off. New Year's had been particularly bad when the millenium rolled around. The firecrackers hadn't lasted for just one night. They had lasted for three days. Shellie's nerves had been so wrecked by then that she had run off into the forest behind the house until it was all over. She usually never ventured anywhere near the forest, unless it was with Dingo to spy on Sigourney. It was too full of creatures, including Begonia, that seemed to think that fresh chicken was the perfect snack.
As far as Thanksgiving was concerned, Shellie couldn't say that she disliked it. It just made her feel uneasy. She by no means considered herself a turkey or, for that matter, subject to the perils that beset turkeys at Thanksgiving time. However, fowl was still fowl. And a chicken could never be too certain that she would never be mistaken for a young turkey.
Fortunately, there were a few holidays and other special days that Shellie found to her liking. Two of them were Memorial Day and Labor Day. She found both of them extremely peaceful. Mike, Paula and all their relatives tended to take out-of-town trips for a day or so. They even took Dingo with them. Shellie enjoyed those days. She had complete run of the house and yard. Even Sigourney, when she was around, seemed to spend most of her time sleeping since there was no one there with long legs to rub against.
But Shellie's favorite day of all was Halloween. It was like no other day of the year. It was the one day when Shellie got to eat her favorite food of all, and as much of it as any chicken could possibly hope for: fresh pumpkin seeds.
Shellie had been only three months old when she enjoyed her first Halloween. Once she had tasted her first fresh pumpkin seed, she knew she had just experienced one of the greatest pleasures in life. All seeds she had had up to that point had come straight from a sack. Although they were nothing to complain about, they were dry and hard. Shellie could certainly make a good meal out of them, but by the time she was full, her beak was tired from trying to crack them open, and her throat was dry and scratchy from swallowing them. Shellie always had to drink half a bowl of water after a lunch of those dry seeds.
But fresh pumpkin seeds were another story altogether. Fresh pumpkin seeds that had been scooped directly out of the pumpkin were soft and moist. They were also covered with wonderful slime that let them slide right down Shellie's throat. They didn't cause the least bit of scratching. And since they were so moist, Shellie didn't need to drink a half a bowl of water afterwards.
A few days before Shellie's third Halloween, Paula and Tadpole went to the field and picked 12 perfect pumpkins. They planned to make jack-o-lanterns. Eleven of the pumpkins were regular-sized, not too small and not too big. But one of the pumpkins was a giant pumpkin. It was nearly as large as four of the regular pumpkins put together. Paula placed it on the bathroom scales and exclaimed to her husband, "Biggest one we've ever raised. 58 pounds!"
The rest of that day, Paula and Tadpole made jack-o-lanterns. They cut tops off the pumpkins, scooped the seeds and flesh out, and carved crooked smiles, eyes and noses on the faces of the pumpkins.
Shellie ate fresh pumpkin seeds all afternoon. She ate so many that her craw felt like it was on the verge of bursting. She wished she could find some way to store the pumpkin seeds for the rest of the year so that they would stay fresh. Having them only one day a year was truly a shame.
Toward evening, Paula and Tadpole finished with the jack-o-lanterns. Paula went inside to get some candles to put in them. Unfortunately, she discovered that she only had three candles. She told Tadpole that they would go to town the next morning to buy some more.
In the meantime, they placed the pumpkins all around the front yard and on the front porch. Tadpole placed the three available candles in three of the smaller pumpkins at the edge of the front yard. He lit them up and stood back to admire his work.
The three jack-o-lanterns shone brightly and menacingly in the dark. Tadpole stared at them with great pleasure. The light from the jack-o-lanterns reflected in the pupils of his eyes.
The reflection gave Shellie a creepy sensation. She saw little tiny pumpkins shining from his eyes. She quickly looked away.
Around 9:00 that evening, April picked Tadpole up. He took two of the pumpkins with him. He had wanted to take the giant pumpkin, but April told him it was too big to place in the car. Paula said that they could fit it in the trunk with a little imagination. But April had insisted that it stay where it was. Shellie had noticed that April sometimes didn't show as much enthusiasm about things as Tadpole and his grandmother did.
After April and Tadpole were gone, Mike and Paula turned on the television and watched Scream. Paula didn't like such movies, but Mike always insisted on watching a scary one on Halloween night. He had done that all his life since he was a boy.
Shellie stayed in the kitchen. She didn't like movies with people popping out of the bushes in scary masks.
Mike and Paula finally went to bed around 10:30.
The house and yard soon grew quiet and still.
Shellie drifted off to asleep. She dreamed that she was walking through a field full of large pumpkins the size of elephants. After a while, they started whispering to each other in a strange clicking language she had never heard.
Suddenly, she woke up. It was near midnight. Then she understood her dream.
Dingo was awake and pacing back and forth across the kitchen linoleum. His long toenails were clicking each time they touched the floor.
Dingo looked up at Shellie as if to say, "Are you ready?" He then went out through the dog door.
Dingo did that almost every night. It was part of his routine. He would sleep a few hours, and then go outside to make his rounds in the yard. He would eventually come back in and sleep until Paula got up the next morning. He always slept much more soundly after his midnight rounds.
Shellie sometimes went with him on his rounds. Unlike most chickens, she enjoyed taking a walk in the middle of the night. The yard was full of sounds and odors that were much different from those during the day.
But Shellie always had to be extra careful. The middle of the night could also be full of dangers.
That's why she only went out when Dingo went. He wasn't the bravest dog she had ever seen but at least he was good at spotting any danger long before it became serious.
Dingo and Shellie first stayed in the back yard. Dingo checked under all the trees, the back fence and the barn. Everything seemed to be in order.
He then circled around the side of the house toward the front. Shellie followed him. She watched Dingo as he went to the edge of the front yard like he did every night. He started smelling around all the trees and bushes and began to work his way from one side of the yard to the other.
He went past the lit pumpkins along the edge of the yard. The flickering light from their eyes, noses, and mouths cast long, dark shapes across the road. Dingo's shadow made him look like a giant, slow-moving bear. The shadows made Shellie feel a little unsafe. She turned her head away and tried to keep her eyes focused on Dingo as he moved away from the jack-o-lanterns. Pretty soon, he was on the other side of the yard. It looked like the entire yard was free of any and all dangers.
Shellie knew that it would take Dingo 10 or 15 minutes to get the job done. He often found other important things to do along the way.
In the meantime, she decided to wait on the ground near the front porch. It was a clear, crisp, bright night. Shellie enjoyed the cool, fresh air and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath.
Suddenly, she heard a rustle in the camellia tree nearby. She opened her eyes and took a close look.
She didn't see anything.
She decided that it was just Dingo and closed her eyes again.
Then she heard the rustle again. This time it was closer.
She opened her eyes as wide as she could. She still didn't see anything. But then the tree rustled again.
Shellie squinted her eyes and looked as close as she could. She saw a dark figure under the camellia tree. It moved slightly, and in her direction.
Then Shellie spotted a bushy tail.
She immediately knew that the creature wasn't Dingo. She knew that it was a fox.
Shellie had never come face to face with a fox before. But she knew by instinct that a fox meant trouble, big trouble, for a little chicken.
Shellie didn't know what to do. She knew she couldn't make it to the dog door at the back of the house and into the kitchen. The fox was just too fast.
And she didn't know where Dingo was. As far as she knew, he might have already finished his rounds and gone back to bed.
Shellie stared at the fox. Suddenly, he moved closer.
Shellie then did the one thing that any chicken in her situation would have done. She screeched as loud as she could and ran up on the porch.
When the fox spotted Shellie running, he sprang out from under the camellia tree and came after her.
Shellie froze. She saw the fox coming and saw no way to escape. She couldn't run forward or to the right or left. He would get her no matter which way she headed.
Shellie jumped up onto the pumpkins. She jumped first on one of the smaller pumpkins and then on the giant one.
When she stepped on the carved-out lid of the giant pumpkin, the lid popped off and fell to the side.
Shellie lost her footing. Both legs fell into the top hole of the giant pumpkin.
Shellie screeched again. The fox was almost on her.
Shellie did the last thing she could think of. She raised her wings and tried to flap them. Perhaps she could fly away.
But instead of going upward, Shellie went downward. When she lifted her wings, her entire body fell through the top hole of the pumpkin.
Shellie hit the bottom of the pumpkin with a solid "PLOP!".
She looked upward. She saw the fox staring down in the opening at her. The light from the jack-o-lanterns along the edge of the yard hit his pupils and made them shine bright red. She could also see the bright white of his shiny teeth. Up close, they looked far bigger than she had ever expected.
Shellie screeched again.
It was the loudest she had ever screeched in her life.
It was also a screech that paid off.
She immediately heard a bark from across the yard.
It was Dingo!
He barked again, this time closer. He started yipping in his rapid, high-pitched tone.
Shellie saw the fox look up to see what it was.
She heard Dingo getting closer.
The fox backed away from the giant pumpkin.
Dingo was soon at the bottom of the porch steps. He kept up his frantic yipping.
The fox wasn't afraid of chickens, but he was afraid of rat terriers. He sprang off the porch and ran across the yard.
Dingo went after him. He was close at his heels, yipping away. That was the bravest Shellie had ever seen Dingo behave.
At that moment, the front porch light came on.
The door opened, and Mike and Paula came flying out.
"Dingo!" Paula called. "Dingo! What is it?"
They could still hear Dingo yipping, but he was too far away to see.
Then Paula said, "Where's Shellie?"
She ran back into the house and into the kitchen. Shellie wasn't there. She ran back to Mike on the front porch.
"Shellie's not in the kitchen! I'm afraid the fox got her!"
At that moment, Shellie stood up. She stretched her neck as far as she could. But she wasn't tall enough. She couldn't see out of the giant pumpkin.
She squatted back down and stuck her head out of the carved mouth. She squawked as loud as she could.
"Shellie!" Paula cried. She looked down and spotted Shellie's head sticking out of the jack-o-lantern mouth.
"Wait there, Shellie!" Paula told her. "I'll get you out."
Paula ran to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and came back. She carefully carved a larger mouth in jack-o-lantern in the shape of a large circle.
When it was big enough, Shellie squeezed her way out.
She ran inside the house as fast as she could. That was the last time she ever went on a midnight walk with Dingo.
Shellie had her preferences.
For one, she preferred Christmas over Easter. At Christmas, the family was cheerful and the fireplace was warm on cold nights. Relatives came to visit and lots of bits of food were always falling on the floor and ground, just the right size for a chicken to eat.
Easter, however, was a different story.
Although Shellie had to admit that the weather was generally kinder at that time of year, she had learned that pleasant weather could have a downside. For her, Easter was downright strenuous. It was the one and only time of the year that she felt under tremendous pressure. Paula expected Shellie to lay eggs, and to lay lots of them.
Sometimes, Shellie didn't even get a look at her newest egg before the hand of Paula grabbed it away. And as soon as the egg was gone, Paula would say, "Good girl, Shellie. Now you better get back to work. I still don't have enough eggs for the Church Easter Hunt. Plus there's the kindergarten class, the orphanage, and the Ladies Auxiliary Hunt."
At times like that, Shellie wished that Paula didn't have such a good heart. Shellie didn't mind laying an egg every few days, but having to pop them out as fast as coin machine took its toll. She was always glad when Easter was over. She was usually so worn out by the whole ordeal that she would sleep almost three days straight to get back to her old self. About the only good thing she saw about Easter was that it came around once a year and no more. She was at least glad that Paula didn't expect her to lay eggs in different colors.
Shellie also had very clear preferences about a few other days of the year.
She wasn't too crazy about New Year's Eve and the Fourth of July. They were just too loud. People who were otherwise rational beings seemed to lose all their senses on those days. They suddenly started doing things that they would yell at other people for doing at any other time of the year, like having loud parties past midnight, wearing funny heats, singing loudly in public gatherings, and riding around with flags stuck on top of their vehicles.
Shellie particularly disliked firecrackers. She wouldn't have cared so much if all the noise had stopped by sundown. But it seemed that the noise never really got started until sundown. And then it went on until deep into the night and early the next morning. On those nights of the year, Shellie hardly got a wink of sleep. She could even remember times when the sun came up the next morning and those firecrackers were still going off. New Year's had been particularly bad when the millenium rolled around. The firecrackers hadn't lasted for just one night. They had lasted for three days. Shellie's nerves had been so wrecked by then that she had run off into the forest behind the house until it was all over. She usually never ventured anywhere near the forest, unless it was with Dingo to spy on Sigourney. It was too full of creatures, including Begonia, that seemed to think that fresh chicken was the perfect snack.
As far as Thanksgiving was concerned, Shellie couldn't say that she disliked it. It just made her feel uneasy. She by no means considered herself a turkey or, for that matter, subject to the perils that beset turkeys at Thanksgiving time. However, fowl was still fowl. And a chicken could never be too certain that she would never be mistaken for a young turkey.
Fortunately, there were a few holidays and other special days that Shellie found to her liking. Two of them were Memorial Day and Labor Day. She found both of them extremely peaceful. Mike, Paula and all their relatives tended to take out-of-town trips for a day or so. They even took Dingo with them. Shellie enjoyed those days. She had complete run of the house and yard. Even Sigourney, when she was around, seemed to spend most of her time sleeping since there was no one there with long legs to rub against.
But Shellie's favorite day of all was Halloween. It was like no other day of the year. It was the one day when Shellie got to eat her favorite food of all, and as much of it as any chicken could possibly hope for: fresh pumpkin seeds.
Shellie had been only three months old when she enjoyed her first Halloween. Once she had tasted her first fresh pumpkin seed, she knew she had just experienced one of the greatest pleasures in life. All seeds she had had up to that point had come straight from a sack. Although they were nothing to complain about, they were dry and hard. Shellie could certainly make a good meal out of them, but by the time she was full, her beak was tired from trying to crack them open, and her throat was dry and scratchy from swallowing them. Shellie always had to drink half a bowl of water after a lunch of those dry seeds.
But fresh pumpkin seeds were another story altogether. Fresh pumpkin seeds that had been scooped directly out of the pumpkin were soft and moist. They were also covered with wonderful slime that let them slide right down Shellie's throat. They didn't cause the least bit of scratching. And since they were so moist, Shellie didn't need to drink a half a bowl of water afterwards.
A few days before Shellie's third Halloween, Paula and Tadpole went to the field and picked 12 perfect pumpkins. They planned to make jack-o-lanterns. Eleven of the pumpkins were regular-sized, not too small and not too big. But one of the pumpkins was a giant pumpkin. It was nearly as large as four of the regular pumpkins put together. Paula placed it on the bathroom scales and exclaimed to her husband, "Biggest one we've ever raised. 58 pounds!"
The rest of that day, Paula and Tadpole made jack-o-lanterns. They cut tops off the pumpkins, scooped the seeds and flesh out, and carved crooked smiles, eyes and noses on the faces of the pumpkins.
Shellie ate fresh pumpkin seeds all afternoon. She ate so many that her craw felt like it was on the verge of bursting. She wished she could find some way to store the pumpkin seeds for the rest of the year so that they would stay fresh. Having them only one day a year was truly a shame.
Toward evening, Paula and Tadpole finished with the jack-o-lanterns. Paula went inside to get some candles to put in them. Unfortunately, she discovered that she only had three candles. She told Tadpole that they would go to town the next morning to buy some more.
In the meantime, they placed the pumpkins all around the front yard and on the front porch. Tadpole placed the three available candles in three of the smaller pumpkins at the edge of the front yard. He lit them up and stood back to admire his work.
The three jack-o-lanterns shone brightly and menacingly in the dark. Tadpole stared at them with great pleasure. The light from the jack-o-lanterns reflected in the pupils of his eyes.
The reflection gave Shellie a creepy sensation. She saw little tiny pumpkins shining from his eyes. She quickly looked away.
Around 9:00 that evening, April picked Tadpole up. He took two of the pumpkins with him. He had wanted to take the giant pumpkin, but April told him it was too big to place in the car. Paula said that they could fit it in the trunk with a little imagination. But April had insisted that it stay where it was. Shellie had noticed that April sometimes didn't show as much enthusiasm about things as Tadpole and his grandmother did.
After April and Tadpole were gone, Mike and Paula turned on the television and watched Scream. Paula didn't like such movies, but Mike always insisted on watching a scary one on Halloween night. He had done that all his life since he was a boy.
Shellie stayed in the kitchen. She didn't like movies with people popping out of the bushes in scary masks.
Mike and Paula finally went to bed around 10:30.
The house and yard soon grew quiet and still.
Shellie drifted off to asleep. She dreamed that she was walking through a field full of large pumpkins the size of elephants. After a while, they started whispering to each other in a strange clicking language she had never heard.
Suddenly, she woke up. It was near midnight. Then she understood her dream.
Dingo was awake and pacing back and forth across the kitchen linoleum. His long toenails were clicking each time they touched the floor.
Dingo looked up at Shellie as if to say, "Are you ready?" He then went out through the dog door.
Dingo did that almost every night. It was part of his routine. He would sleep a few hours, and then go outside to make his rounds in the yard. He would eventually come back in and sleep until Paula got up the next morning. He always slept much more soundly after his midnight rounds.
Shellie sometimes went with him on his rounds. Unlike most chickens, she enjoyed taking a walk in the middle of the night. The yard was full of sounds and odors that were much different from those during the day.
But Shellie always had to be extra careful. The middle of the night could also be full of dangers.
That's why she only went out when Dingo went. He wasn't the bravest dog she had ever seen but at least he was good at spotting any danger long before it became serious.
Dingo and Shellie first stayed in the back yard. Dingo checked under all the trees, the back fence and the barn. Everything seemed to be in order.
He then circled around the side of the house toward the front. Shellie followed him. She watched Dingo as he went to the edge of the front yard like he did every night. He started smelling around all the trees and bushes and began to work his way from one side of the yard to the other.
He went past the lit pumpkins along the edge of the yard. The flickering light from their eyes, noses, and mouths cast long, dark shapes across the road. Dingo's shadow made him look like a giant, slow-moving bear. The shadows made Shellie feel a little unsafe. She turned her head away and tried to keep her eyes focused on Dingo as he moved away from the jack-o-lanterns. Pretty soon, he was on the other side of the yard. It looked like the entire yard was free of any and all dangers.
Shellie knew that it would take Dingo 10 or 15 minutes to get the job done. He often found other important things to do along the way.
In the meantime, she decided to wait on the ground near the front porch. It was a clear, crisp, bright night. Shellie enjoyed the cool, fresh air and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath.
Suddenly, she heard a rustle in the camellia tree nearby. She opened her eyes and took a close look.
She didn't see anything.
She decided that it was just Dingo and closed her eyes again.
Then she heard the rustle again. This time it was closer.
She opened her eyes as wide as she could. She still didn't see anything. But then the tree rustled again.
Shellie squinted her eyes and looked as close as she could. She saw a dark figure under the camellia tree. It moved slightly, and in her direction.
Then Shellie spotted a bushy tail.
She immediately knew that the creature wasn't Dingo. She knew that it was a fox.
Shellie had never come face to face with a fox before. But she knew by instinct that a fox meant trouble, big trouble, for a little chicken.
Shellie didn't know what to do. She knew she couldn't make it to the dog door at the back of the house and into the kitchen. The fox was just too fast.
And she didn't know where Dingo was. As far as she knew, he might have already finished his rounds and gone back to bed.
Shellie stared at the fox. Suddenly, he moved closer.
Shellie then did the one thing that any chicken in her situation would have done. She screeched as loud as she could and ran up on the porch.
When the fox spotted Shellie running, he sprang out from under the camellia tree and came after her.
Shellie froze. She saw the fox coming and saw no way to escape. She couldn't run forward or to the right or left. He would get her no matter which way she headed.
Shellie jumped up onto the pumpkins. She jumped first on one of the smaller pumpkins and then on the giant one.
When she stepped on the carved-out lid of the giant pumpkin, the lid popped off and fell to the side.
Shellie lost her footing. Both legs fell into the top hole of the giant pumpkin.
Shellie screeched again. The fox was almost on her.
Shellie did the last thing she could think of. She raised her wings and tried to flap them. Perhaps she could fly away.
But instead of going upward, Shellie went downward. When she lifted her wings, her entire body fell through the top hole of the pumpkin.
Shellie hit the bottom of the pumpkin with a solid "PLOP!".
She looked upward. She saw the fox staring down in the opening at her. The light from the jack-o-lanterns along the edge of the yard hit his pupils and made them shine bright red. She could also see the bright white of his shiny teeth. Up close, they looked far bigger than she had ever expected.
Shellie screeched again.
It was the loudest she had ever screeched in her life.
It was also a screech that paid off.
She immediately heard a bark from across the yard.
It was Dingo!
He barked again, this time closer. He started yipping in his rapid, high-pitched tone.
Shellie saw the fox look up to see what it was.
She heard Dingo getting closer.
The fox backed away from the giant pumpkin.
Dingo was soon at the bottom of the porch steps. He kept up his frantic yipping.
The fox wasn't afraid of chickens, but he was afraid of rat terriers. He sprang off the porch and ran across the yard.
Dingo went after him. He was close at his heels, yipping away. That was the bravest Shellie had ever seen Dingo behave.
At that moment, the front porch light came on.
The door opened, and Mike and Paula came flying out.
"Dingo!" Paula called. "Dingo! What is it?"
They could still hear Dingo yipping, but he was too far away to see.
Then Paula said, "Where's Shellie?"
She ran back into the house and into the kitchen. Shellie wasn't there. She ran back to Mike on the front porch.
"Shellie's not in the kitchen! I'm afraid the fox got her!"
At that moment, Shellie stood up. She stretched her neck as far as she could. But she wasn't tall enough. She couldn't see out of the giant pumpkin.
She squatted back down and stuck her head out of the carved mouth. She squawked as loud as she could.
"Shellie!" Paula cried. She looked down and spotted Shellie's head sticking out of the jack-o-lantern mouth.
"Wait there, Shellie!" Paula told her. "I'll get you out."
Paula ran to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and came back. She carefully carved a larger mouth in jack-o-lantern in the shape of a large circle.
When it was big enough, Shellie squeezed her way out.
She ran inside the house as fast as she could. That was the last time she ever went on a midnight walk with Dingo.
The Worst Wurst
(Chapter 12 from the book "The Chicken Who Didn't Know Where To Lay Her Eggs")
There weren't actually any oaks at Three Oaks, at least not any more. About 15 years earlier, a tornado had blown through the area one morning in late September and toppled the three oaks that had been there. There had been one on each of three corners of the intersection of the Rutledge Road and the Madison Highway. The fourth corner was occupied by a small country store. The tornado had spared the store completely. It had been very precise in its destruction.
Shellie had been through a tornado once. She had been in the house on the last day in March with Paula, Mike, and Dingo. They were all inside because a hurricane was passing through the state about a 100 miles west of them. They had already had high winds and hard rain for several hours. The electricity in the house had been knocked out. They weren't even able to watch television. They all sat in the living room listening to the weather report on the radio, which they at least had a battery for. The weatherman had announced about an hour earlier that a tornado warning had been issued for the area.
Outside, the weather took a sudden change. The wind let up and the rain stopped, but the sky remained dark and gray. Everything became very quiet. Then they heard a deep roaring sound. Mike looked out the window and shouted, "It's a tornado!"
He quickly started opening windows in every room in the house. He said he didn't want the house to explode. Paula grabbed both Shellie and Dingo in her arms. Suddenly, loose papers and other lightweight objects started flying in the air and went zooming out the window. The mayhem only lasted for about 15 seconds and then everything started falling back to the ground. The roaring died down as quickly as it had started. Mike, Paula, Shellie and Dingo peered out one of the open windows. Across the road, no more than 300 yards away, they saw a stand of young pine trees that had been knocked over like match sticks. Mike had remarked, "This year, March can in like a lion and went out like a Lamborghini.
The tornado at Three Oaks had been just as merciless to the trees there. The three oaks had been old trees, nearly 150 years. Someone had planted them back in the 1800s, when the two roads were originally built. At that time, the roads had been little more than dirt lanes for horse and buggy. The fourth tree had disappeared when only about 50 old. No one was sure about what had been the cause of its demise, though another tornado was thought to be the reason.
The fellow who had owned the store there sold it a few years later to Bodo Steinmeier. Bodo was originally from Germany. He had come to the United States about 10 years earlier. He had met a local girl while she was touring Europe, eventually married her, and came back to the United States to live.
Bodo was a butcher by trade. After he came to the United States, he had bought the store at Three Oaks and set up his own business. His specialty was genuine German wurst. When he spoke, he referred to them as "voist". Paula had trouble pronouncing "voist" correctly. She just pronounced the word the way it looked on paper, "worst".
Bodo did a good business. He had the only store for miles around, and his wurst had made a very good name for themselves throughout the county, as well as in several neighboring counties. It wasn't unusual for people to drive 50 miles just to buy his wurst.
Paula dropped by a few times of year for wurst. When her cousin, Tobias, and wife, Nike, who were also from Germany, came to visit, all three of them always went to Bodo's store at Three Oaks. It had become a tradition.
Tobias and Nike had been coming for visits for almost 35 years. They had even come during the few years when Paula and her first husband were going to college in Dallas. There had only been one year they hadn't come. That year had been extremely difficult for Paula. She had had too much to cope with to have guests.
Tobias and Nike had come again this year. They got there during the dog days of August. A few days after their arrival, they suggested that they all ride up to Three Oaks to buy some of Bodo's famous wurst.
After lunch, Tobias, Nike, Paula plus Shellie and Dingo got in the SUV and headed off.
It was a hot and humid day as usual that time of year. Most of the cows, pigs, and horses they saw along the way had crowded together under the best shade they could find. Some were even standing in ponds and water holes to keep cool.
When they got to Three Oaks, all five of them got out. It was simply too hot for anyone to remain in the SUV. With no trees around, there was no shade to park under. Paula let Dingo out into the store yard. He ran over to the narrow sliver of shade cast by the roof of the store.
Paula stuck Shellie under her arm and took her with her. The store owner normally didn't let chickens come in the store, but he had long ago made an exception for Shellie. He even gave her free shelled peanuts from his counter container.
Shellie liked the store. Bodo had decorated it in Bavarian style. Large pictures of the Alps with cows grazing on steep inclines were on a couple of the walls. Shellie wondered if they ever topped over and rolled down hill.
In two corners of the store stood a male mannequin and a female mannequin dressed in traditional Bavarian clothes, lederhosen on the man and a long farmwife's dress on the woman. Bodo had placed a large old horse wagon in the middle of the floor. He displayed various types of smoked wurst there.
Bodo, Tobias and Nike all spoke German. Shellie didn't understand a word of it, but she liked the sound. All she could make out were a few syllables or short words that sounded like "keit", "essen" and "Auto". She liked watching the way Bodo, Tobias and Nike shaped their mouths to make strange sounds that she never heard come out of Mike's or Paula’s mouth. They frequently made short hissing sounds like a very small air pump. Sometimes they pronounced unusual vowel sounds that she had only heard from hoot-owls, mockingbirds, and rain frogs.
Tobias and Nike picked out four different kinds of wurst. One was brown, one white, one red and one gray. Some of them were the size of large bananas and others as small as pickling cucumbers. Even though Shellie was repelled by the idea of eating them, she liked the combination of colors and sizes.
Bodo brimmed with pride at their selection and said in English to Paula. "You're gonna eat good tonight! You've got kah-nock-voist, vice-voist, bloot-voist, oond brott-voist."
Paula smiled and took his word for it. To her, wurst was wurst. She had never made a great effort to tell one from the other.
The owner wrapped the wurst in two layers of wax paper, placed them inside two plastic bags, taped the plastic bags closed, placed them in a large paper bag, taped it closed, and then placed the entire package in a large plastic bag. The side of the bag read "Bodo's Country Store – for Better or Wurst!".
"That should keep 'em cool on a hot day," he said cheerfully. He was always cheerful. Shellie wondered if all wurst-makers were like that.
Paula, Tobias and Nike exchanged a few last words with Bodo and then left the shop. Paula called Dingo. He came running from the shade. His tongue was hanging all the way out and dripping large amounts of saliva. Shellie hoped he didn't drop any on her.
They all got into the SUV and headed back home.
Shellie sat on the lap of Paula right where the air-conditioner vent would blow on her. It felt so good that she closed her eyes and started drifting off to sleep.
Suddenly, Paula groaned, "Oh no! That's all we need!"
Shellie yanked her eyes open. A light on the control panel was flashing bright red.
Paula said, "Looks like we're overheating."
She pulled the SUV over to the side of the road, popped the hood, and got out to take a look.
In a moment, she came back and said, "Well, folks, looks like we've got a problem. One of Shellie's eggs has exploded and caused the radiator to spring a leak."
Shellie looked away as if she hadn't heard a word. It wasn't the first time that she had heard her name mentioned in connection with problems with the SUV.
Tobias and Nike got out and also took a look. Dingo got out as well. The SUV was already getting hot.
Shellie hopped down and went under the SUV. At least there was a little shade there, plus nobody could see her for a moment. She hoped they would quickly forget that her egg was involved.
Nobody said anything right away. They all just stood there staring at the radiator. Steamy water dripped onto the dry, dusty ground at their feet.
After a moment, Paula said, "Here, I'll call Mike. He'll have to come get us."
She got out her cell phone, dialled home, and spoke a few words with her husband. She closed with "We'll be waiting in the shade."
As she put the phone away, she said, "It'll be at least half an hour before he gets here. He's out in the field on the tractor and will first have to go home to pick up the truck and a chain. Looks like we'll just have to find a spot in the shade and sit a spell."
Nike sighed and asked, "What about the voist? It's likely to spoil in this heat."
Paula looked around a moment and then said, "I've got an idea."
She took the bag of wurst out of the SUV, walked down the highway embankment and walked a little ways further in the ditch. Shellie started to go with her until she saw where she was headed. Then she just stayed put. She didn't like going down into places like that. She never knew what kind of creatures might already be lurking there.
"Here's a culvert," she called back to them. "I'll stick them inside. It'll stay cool enough here. At least better than just keeping them under a tree with us."
She slid the bag of wurst inside the culvert and came back.
Paula looked around. She spotted a large tree a couple of hundred of yards down the road.
"Let's go sit under that tree until Mike gets here," she said. It offered enough shade for three people, a chicken, and a dog.
She made Shellie come out from under the SUV and stuck her under her arm.
They all went over to the tree and took a seat on the ground. Shellie scratched around until she had made a small depression in the earth. The exposed soil was moist and was much cooler than the surface soil. She sat down and settled in. It wasn't perfect but it was better than nothing. At least it kept her belly cool.
Dingo dug himself a similar hole nearby.
Paula, Tobias, and Nike talked about this and that for the next half hour or so. Soon, they spotted Mike headed their way in his truck.
Once he got there and inspected the damage, he commented, "Looks serious."
He backed the truck up to the front of the SUV and hooked the SUV to the truck with a chain.
"That'll get us home," he said. "Ready?"
"Don't leave the voist here!" Nike exclaimed.
"Thanks for reminding me," Paula said. "I had clean forgotten about it. Would've had to blame it on Shellie."
Paula walked back down to the culvert and pulled the bag out.
"This heat must be getting to me," she remarked. "This bag seems to get heavier and heavier."
She came back, put the bag in a cooler Mike had in the back of the truck.
Tobias and Nike got in the truck with Mike.
Paula got in the SUV to steer it as the truck towed it home. Shellie and Dingo hopped in with her.
Mike drove slowly on the way home. It took about half an hour to get there.
Once there, Tobias and Nike were exhausted. To them, a hot day was 85 degrees. The thermometer on the back porch read 103.
Paula told them, "You two go on in and cool down. I'll get the wurst and be there in a few minutes."
She helped her husband pull the SUV down into the shop where he could replace the pipe.
She got the wurst out of the cooler in the truck and took it inside. Shellie and Dingo were right behind her. They had had enough hot weather for one day.
Paula placed the bag of wurst in the refrigerator. It was still too early and far too hot to think about supper. There was no need to start cooking until evening settled in.
She found Tobias and Nike sitting in the living room with the air conditioner on full blast. They both had a big glass of ice water.
"It sure is hot out there," Tobias remarked. His face was still red and perspiration was dripping off his chin.
Around 7:00 that evening, Nike decided it was time to cook. She, Paula and Shellie went into the kitchen to get things ready.
Paula let Nike take the lead. She figured Nike knew a lot more about cooking wurst than she did.
Shellie climbed up on her counter perch to watch. She thought about how different Nike was from Desert Doe. Shellie looked at Nike's feet and saw that the two women at least had one thing in common. Both wore sandals. But there was a big difference.
Nike wore socks and she didn't have any ankle bracelets on. Shellie was slightly disappointed.
Nike told Paula what she needed. Paula got her the pans, utensils and ingredients they needed. Nike decided to make a simple potato salad to go along with the wurst.
The two women started peeling the potatoes. Shellie watched them closely. She noticed that Nike peeled the skin off the potatoes in wide strips, just like Paula. She didn't make the light, thin cuts like Desert Doe did.
Once Nike had the potatoes ready said ready, she said, "Now we can cook the voist. Is it in the refrigerator?"
"Yes," Paula replied. "Down on the bottom shelf."
Nike opened the refrigerator door, spotted the bag of wurst, and took it out.
Shellie looked at the bag. She wondered how four people could eat so much wurst. She thought that perhaps it would shrink to half size when they cooked it.
Nike seemed to read her mind.
"My husband may have overdone it this time," Nike said. "There's no way we'll eat this much voist in one meal!"
She placed the bag on the kitchen table, opened it up and stuck her hand in to get the wurst out.
Shellie watched her closely.
Suddenly, Nike turned very pale. Her eyes opened wide and her jaw fell open. She let out a high-pitched screamed.
Paula looked over at her and saw her almost fall backward.
Nike's face was as white as a new cotton t-shirt. She stood there speechless, her jaw trembling. She backed away from the table and stared at the bag.
She pointed at the bag, her hand shaking, and cried, "There's something in there!"
Paula cautiously walked over to the bag. She peeked in.
She smiled and looked over at Nike.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll take care of it."
She stuck her hand in the bag, grabbed something and then pulled out a three-foot long oak snake.
Shellie felt a cold shiver run down her spine. There was nothing more that she disliked than snakes. She jumped down from her perch and ran behind the living room door.
"He's not poisonous," Shellie heard Paula say. "Just found a cool place to sleep."
Shellie peeked around the door.
Paula stood there with one hand holding the snake behind its head and the other holding its coiled body. The snake looked very sluggish.
Paula said matter-of-factly, "He's cooled down so much he's practically gone into hibernation. I'll take him across the road and let him go. He's harmless."
Paula opened the back door and then turned to Shellie and Dingo, "You two want to go with me?"
Dingo ran out the door. He didn't like to miss any trip, not even if it involved snakes.
Shellie stayed where she was. She felt much safer behind the living room door. She wasn't sure how long it would take the snake to warm back up. When he did, she didn't want to be there.
Paula was gone about ten minutes.
When she came back, Tobias, Nike and Shellie were sitting in the living room. The bag of wurst was still sitting on the table.
Paula said, "Well, no harm down. Ready to finish supper?"
Tobias cleared his throat and timidly said, "We're not really in the mood for voist tonight. Do you think we might go to that Italian restaurant in town?"
There weren't actually any oaks at Three Oaks, at least not any more. About 15 years earlier, a tornado had blown through the area one morning in late September and toppled the three oaks that had been there. There had been one on each of three corners of the intersection of the Rutledge Road and the Madison Highway. The fourth corner was occupied by a small country store. The tornado had spared the store completely. It had been very precise in its destruction.
Shellie had been through a tornado once. She had been in the house on the last day in March with Paula, Mike, and Dingo. They were all inside because a hurricane was passing through the state about a 100 miles west of them. They had already had high winds and hard rain for several hours. The electricity in the house had been knocked out. They weren't even able to watch television. They all sat in the living room listening to the weather report on the radio, which they at least had a battery for. The weatherman had announced about an hour earlier that a tornado warning had been issued for the area.
Outside, the weather took a sudden change. The wind let up and the rain stopped, but the sky remained dark and gray. Everything became very quiet. Then they heard a deep roaring sound. Mike looked out the window and shouted, "It's a tornado!"
He quickly started opening windows in every room in the house. He said he didn't want the house to explode. Paula grabbed both Shellie and Dingo in her arms. Suddenly, loose papers and other lightweight objects started flying in the air and went zooming out the window. The mayhem only lasted for about 15 seconds and then everything started falling back to the ground. The roaring died down as quickly as it had started. Mike, Paula, Shellie and Dingo peered out one of the open windows. Across the road, no more than 300 yards away, they saw a stand of young pine trees that had been knocked over like match sticks. Mike had remarked, "This year, March can in like a lion and went out like a Lamborghini.
The tornado at Three Oaks had been just as merciless to the trees there. The three oaks had been old trees, nearly 150 years. Someone had planted them back in the 1800s, when the two roads were originally built. At that time, the roads had been little more than dirt lanes for horse and buggy. The fourth tree had disappeared when only about 50 old. No one was sure about what had been the cause of its demise, though another tornado was thought to be the reason.
The fellow who had owned the store there sold it a few years later to Bodo Steinmeier. Bodo was originally from Germany. He had come to the United States about 10 years earlier. He had met a local girl while she was touring Europe, eventually married her, and came back to the United States to live.
Bodo was a butcher by trade. After he came to the United States, he had bought the store at Three Oaks and set up his own business. His specialty was genuine German wurst. When he spoke, he referred to them as "voist". Paula had trouble pronouncing "voist" correctly. She just pronounced the word the way it looked on paper, "worst".
Bodo did a good business. He had the only store for miles around, and his wurst had made a very good name for themselves throughout the county, as well as in several neighboring counties. It wasn't unusual for people to drive 50 miles just to buy his wurst.
Paula dropped by a few times of year for wurst. When her cousin, Tobias, and wife, Nike, who were also from Germany, came to visit, all three of them always went to Bodo's store at Three Oaks. It had become a tradition.
Tobias and Nike had been coming for visits for almost 35 years. They had even come during the few years when Paula and her first husband were going to college in Dallas. There had only been one year they hadn't come. That year had been extremely difficult for Paula. She had had too much to cope with to have guests.
Tobias and Nike had come again this year. They got there during the dog days of August. A few days after their arrival, they suggested that they all ride up to Three Oaks to buy some of Bodo's famous wurst.
After lunch, Tobias, Nike, Paula plus Shellie and Dingo got in the SUV and headed off.
It was a hot and humid day as usual that time of year. Most of the cows, pigs, and horses they saw along the way had crowded together under the best shade they could find. Some were even standing in ponds and water holes to keep cool.
When they got to Three Oaks, all five of them got out. It was simply too hot for anyone to remain in the SUV. With no trees around, there was no shade to park under. Paula let Dingo out into the store yard. He ran over to the narrow sliver of shade cast by the roof of the store.
Paula stuck Shellie under her arm and took her with her. The store owner normally didn't let chickens come in the store, but he had long ago made an exception for Shellie. He even gave her free shelled peanuts from his counter container.
Shellie liked the store. Bodo had decorated it in Bavarian style. Large pictures of the Alps with cows grazing on steep inclines were on a couple of the walls. Shellie wondered if they ever topped over and rolled down hill.
In two corners of the store stood a male mannequin and a female mannequin dressed in traditional Bavarian clothes, lederhosen on the man and a long farmwife's dress on the woman. Bodo had placed a large old horse wagon in the middle of the floor. He displayed various types of smoked wurst there.
Bodo, Tobias and Nike all spoke German. Shellie didn't understand a word of it, but she liked the sound. All she could make out were a few syllables or short words that sounded like "keit", "essen" and "Auto". She liked watching the way Bodo, Tobias and Nike shaped their mouths to make strange sounds that she never heard come out of Mike's or Paula’s mouth. They frequently made short hissing sounds like a very small air pump. Sometimes they pronounced unusual vowel sounds that she had only heard from hoot-owls, mockingbirds, and rain frogs.
Tobias and Nike picked out four different kinds of wurst. One was brown, one white, one red and one gray. Some of them were the size of large bananas and others as small as pickling cucumbers. Even though Shellie was repelled by the idea of eating them, she liked the combination of colors and sizes.
Bodo brimmed with pride at their selection and said in English to Paula. "You're gonna eat good tonight! You've got kah-nock-voist, vice-voist, bloot-voist, oond brott-voist."
Paula smiled and took his word for it. To her, wurst was wurst. She had never made a great effort to tell one from the other.
The owner wrapped the wurst in two layers of wax paper, placed them inside two plastic bags, taped the plastic bags closed, placed them in a large paper bag, taped it closed, and then placed the entire package in a large plastic bag. The side of the bag read "Bodo's Country Store – for Better or Wurst!".
"That should keep 'em cool on a hot day," he said cheerfully. He was always cheerful. Shellie wondered if all wurst-makers were like that.
Paula, Tobias and Nike exchanged a few last words with Bodo and then left the shop. Paula called Dingo. He came running from the shade. His tongue was hanging all the way out and dripping large amounts of saliva. Shellie hoped he didn't drop any on her.
They all got into the SUV and headed back home.
Shellie sat on the lap of Paula right where the air-conditioner vent would blow on her. It felt so good that she closed her eyes and started drifting off to sleep.
Suddenly, Paula groaned, "Oh no! That's all we need!"
Shellie yanked her eyes open. A light on the control panel was flashing bright red.
Paula said, "Looks like we're overheating."
She pulled the SUV over to the side of the road, popped the hood, and got out to take a look.
In a moment, she came back and said, "Well, folks, looks like we've got a problem. One of Shellie's eggs has exploded and caused the radiator to spring a leak."
Shellie looked away as if she hadn't heard a word. It wasn't the first time that she had heard her name mentioned in connection with problems with the SUV.
Tobias and Nike got out and also took a look. Dingo got out as well. The SUV was already getting hot.
Shellie hopped down and went under the SUV. At least there was a little shade there, plus nobody could see her for a moment. She hoped they would quickly forget that her egg was involved.
Nobody said anything right away. They all just stood there staring at the radiator. Steamy water dripped onto the dry, dusty ground at their feet.
After a moment, Paula said, "Here, I'll call Mike. He'll have to come get us."
She got out her cell phone, dialled home, and spoke a few words with her husband. She closed with "We'll be waiting in the shade."
As she put the phone away, she said, "It'll be at least half an hour before he gets here. He's out in the field on the tractor and will first have to go home to pick up the truck and a chain. Looks like we'll just have to find a spot in the shade and sit a spell."
Nike sighed and asked, "What about the voist? It's likely to spoil in this heat."
Paula looked around a moment and then said, "I've got an idea."
She took the bag of wurst out of the SUV, walked down the highway embankment and walked a little ways further in the ditch. Shellie started to go with her until she saw where she was headed. Then she just stayed put. She didn't like going down into places like that. She never knew what kind of creatures might already be lurking there.
"Here's a culvert," she called back to them. "I'll stick them inside. It'll stay cool enough here. At least better than just keeping them under a tree with us."
She slid the bag of wurst inside the culvert and came back.
Paula looked around. She spotted a large tree a couple of hundred of yards down the road.
"Let's go sit under that tree until Mike gets here," she said. It offered enough shade for three people, a chicken, and a dog.
She made Shellie come out from under the SUV and stuck her under her arm.
They all went over to the tree and took a seat on the ground. Shellie scratched around until she had made a small depression in the earth. The exposed soil was moist and was much cooler than the surface soil. She sat down and settled in. It wasn't perfect but it was better than nothing. At least it kept her belly cool.
Dingo dug himself a similar hole nearby.
Paula, Tobias, and Nike talked about this and that for the next half hour or so. Soon, they spotted Mike headed their way in his truck.
Once he got there and inspected the damage, he commented, "Looks serious."
He backed the truck up to the front of the SUV and hooked the SUV to the truck with a chain.
"That'll get us home," he said. "Ready?"
"Don't leave the voist here!" Nike exclaimed.
"Thanks for reminding me," Paula said. "I had clean forgotten about it. Would've had to blame it on Shellie."
Paula walked back down to the culvert and pulled the bag out.
"This heat must be getting to me," she remarked. "This bag seems to get heavier and heavier."
She came back, put the bag in a cooler Mike had in the back of the truck.
Tobias and Nike got in the truck with Mike.
Paula got in the SUV to steer it as the truck towed it home. Shellie and Dingo hopped in with her.
Mike drove slowly on the way home. It took about half an hour to get there.
Once there, Tobias and Nike were exhausted. To them, a hot day was 85 degrees. The thermometer on the back porch read 103.
Paula told them, "You two go on in and cool down. I'll get the wurst and be there in a few minutes."
She helped her husband pull the SUV down into the shop where he could replace the pipe.
She got the wurst out of the cooler in the truck and took it inside. Shellie and Dingo were right behind her. They had had enough hot weather for one day.
Paula placed the bag of wurst in the refrigerator. It was still too early and far too hot to think about supper. There was no need to start cooking until evening settled in.
She found Tobias and Nike sitting in the living room with the air conditioner on full blast. They both had a big glass of ice water.
"It sure is hot out there," Tobias remarked. His face was still red and perspiration was dripping off his chin.
Around 7:00 that evening, Nike decided it was time to cook. She, Paula and Shellie went into the kitchen to get things ready.
Paula let Nike take the lead. She figured Nike knew a lot more about cooking wurst than she did.
Shellie climbed up on her counter perch to watch. She thought about how different Nike was from Desert Doe. Shellie looked at Nike's feet and saw that the two women at least had one thing in common. Both wore sandals. But there was a big difference.
Nike wore socks and she didn't have any ankle bracelets on. Shellie was slightly disappointed.
Nike told Paula what she needed. Paula got her the pans, utensils and ingredients they needed. Nike decided to make a simple potato salad to go along with the wurst.
The two women started peeling the potatoes. Shellie watched them closely. She noticed that Nike peeled the skin off the potatoes in wide strips, just like Paula. She didn't make the light, thin cuts like Desert Doe did.
Once Nike had the potatoes ready said ready, she said, "Now we can cook the voist. Is it in the refrigerator?"
"Yes," Paula replied. "Down on the bottom shelf."
Nike opened the refrigerator door, spotted the bag of wurst, and took it out.
Shellie looked at the bag. She wondered how four people could eat so much wurst. She thought that perhaps it would shrink to half size when they cooked it.
Nike seemed to read her mind.
"My husband may have overdone it this time," Nike said. "There's no way we'll eat this much voist in one meal!"
She placed the bag on the kitchen table, opened it up and stuck her hand in to get the wurst out.
Shellie watched her closely.
Suddenly, Nike turned very pale. Her eyes opened wide and her jaw fell open. She let out a high-pitched screamed.
Paula looked over at her and saw her almost fall backward.
Nike's face was as white as a new cotton t-shirt. She stood there speechless, her jaw trembling. She backed away from the table and stared at the bag.
She pointed at the bag, her hand shaking, and cried, "There's something in there!"
Paula cautiously walked over to the bag. She peeked in.
She smiled and looked over at Nike.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll take care of it."
She stuck her hand in the bag, grabbed something and then pulled out a three-foot long oak snake.
Shellie felt a cold shiver run down her spine. There was nothing more that she disliked than snakes. She jumped down from her perch and ran behind the living room door.
"He's not poisonous," Shellie heard Paula say. "Just found a cool place to sleep."
Shellie peeked around the door.
Paula stood there with one hand holding the snake behind its head and the other holding its coiled body. The snake looked very sluggish.
Paula said matter-of-factly, "He's cooled down so much he's practically gone into hibernation. I'll take him across the road and let him go. He's harmless."
Paula opened the back door and then turned to Shellie and Dingo, "You two want to go with me?"
Dingo ran out the door. He didn't like to miss any trip, not even if it involved snakes.
Shellie stayed where she was. She felt much safer behind the living room door. She wasn't sure how long it would take the snake to warm back up. When he did, she didn't want to be there.
Paula was gone about ten minutes.
When she came back, Tobias, Nike and Shellie were sitting in the living room. The bag of wurst was still sitting on the table.
Paula said, "Well, no harm down. Ready to finish supper?"
Tobias cleared his throat and timidly said, "We're not really in the mood for voist tonight. Do you think we might go to that Italian restaurant in town?"
Electronic Begonia
(Chapter 11 from the book "The Chicken Who Didn't Know Where To Lay Her Eggs")
Shellie, Dingo, and Mike all rejoiced at having Paula back home. It felt like a cool autumn breeze finally breaking the stifling hold of the endless dog days of summer. They all felt lighter and more energetic than they had in months.
The best part was that Paula was back to her old self. Whatever the problem had been, it was now gone. She again got up at 6:30 every morning. She was always cheerful and in a good mood. She cleaned house after cooking breakfast. She wrote e-mails and surfed the web. She watched television, particularly baseball, with Shellie sitting on her lap. She cooked baked chicken and Shellie's garlic eggs when the preacher and his family dropped by unexpectedly for supper. And she took Shellie and Dingo fishing at least once a week.
Shellie and Dingo quickly regained some weight. So did Mike. All three of them had gradually slimmed down more than they needed to during Paula's absence. They had all eaten during that period, but food hadn't seemed to have much flavor. They had eaten only enough to get by. Otherwise, their meals hadn't had much pleasure.
The only one who definitely hadn't lost any weight was Begonia.
Begonia was a wild sow that lived back in the swamp. She had first come to the farm three years earlier as a young, 25-pound pig. Now, after three years of luxurious living with as many good things to eat as any hog could possibly hope for, she weighed at least 250 pounds. At least that's what the researchers thought. They had to admit that 250 pounds was, in truth, little more than a scientific guess. They hadn't actually seen Begonia in three years. No one had. The only proof that anyone had that Begonia was there and getting ever bigger was the larger and larger pig stools that she left behind. The researchers had confirmed that the sausage-shaped stools belonged to Begonia by doing DNA tests on them.
Over the three years that Begonia had been on the farm, she had turned into a very large sore point between Mike and the researchers. When the researchers had originally brought her to the farm, they had ensured Mike that she would stay just one year and then they would take her back. That hadn't happened. The researchers had certainly tried to catch Begonia. There was only one problem. Begonia had always outsmarted them.
The researchers were a team of Ph.D.s from the state university. Three years earlier, they had contacted Mike and asked him to participate in what they called a "Porcine Behavioral Pattern Research Project".
At first, Mike had refused. Mike was highly cautious about getting involved in any sort of project that he didn't have complete control of. He was also suspicious about any human whom he hadn't known since childhood. And he was particularly suspicious about anyone with a Ph.D. behind their name. To him, Ph.D. was just a short way of saying "too smart to do any real work".
However, the Ph.D.s eventually applied peer pressure. They convinced five other neighboring farmers to participate in their project. And then they got those farmers to work on Mike.
Mike balked at the other farmers when they first appealed to him. But they didn't give up. They kept visiting him on a regular basis. They all reminded him that they had all known each other since they were boys. They told him that the results of the project would benefit them all, and, besides, their names would get published in the final paper that would be written about the project. The only other public venue several of them had ever had their name published was in the police roster.
Mike wasn't at all interested in getting his name published in a paper. But he finally gave in to the appeals of the other farmers. They eventually convinced him that the results of the project would help him get rid of an annoying problem that all of them had: wild hogs that kept destroying their crops and causing lots of other damage on their farms.
After Mike finally agreed to join in, all six of the farmers met with the researchers to sign an official agreement. According to the agreement, the researchers would release one pig on forested area on each of the farms. Each pig would be tagged with a GPS signalling device in its ear. The researchers would then track the pigs for a year. They would determine their eating, sleeping, and roaming habits and patterns, and, most important, they would determine why wild hogs were so good at not getting caught. After the researchers got their results, they planned to devise new ways of catching even the most evasive wild hog.
One by one, the farmers and the researchers signed the agreement. About two weeks later, the researchers brought the six pigs to the farms. The researchers had named the six pigs Otis, Grunt, Magnolia, Peanut, Tubbs, and Begonia. Begonia had been assigned to Mike and Paula.
When the researchers came to release Begonia on Mike's land, Mike, Paula, Shellie, and Dingo went with them down to the edge of the forest.
Before the researchers let Begonia out of the pen on their truck, Paula, Shellie and Dingo walked over to take a look at her.
Paula held Shellie in her arms as they studied Begonia. Dingo stood beside them. He was unusually subdued. He didn't try to bark at her or get near her cage. He seemed to sense that she was not a creature to chase.
Begonia was white with a few black and brown spots. She had a red-and-black GPS tag in one ear. She didn't squeal or make any noise. She just sat there in the pen and watched what was going on around her. She didn't seem frightened or excited. If anything, she appeared haughty.
She directed her gaze at Paula and Shellie. She first stared Paula in the eyes. Then she let her eyes settle on Shellie. She sat there completely still for a moment.
Shellie looked at Paula and then back at Begonia. Begonia made her feel somehow uncomfortable, as if Shellie were looking at a superior being who not only knew that she was superior but also knew how to use it to her advantage.
Then Begonia turned to the side and let her eyes roam over the men standing there. After she had looked at them all, she raised her head high and looked at Paula and Shellie again. She let out a sharp noise that sounded very close to a "Harumph!". It was as if to say "They're only men. Without us women, they're nothing."
Paula turned to her husband and said, "That pig's smarter than you think."
Mike didn't say anything. Neither did the researchers. They just gave each other quizzical looks.
The researchers lowered the pen to the ground and opened the door. Begonia looked at them as if to say "So what?"
Shellie had to admit that she had never seen such a cocky and arrogant pig in her life.
One of the researchers finally had to crawl into the pen to shoo her out. Begonia still didn't budge. She sat there with her rear in one corner of the pen. Her hind feet stuck out in front of her and projected slightly upward, as if they were outfitted with stilettos.
The researcher crawled over to her and put an arm around her. Begonia didn't resist. The researcher lifted her up, brought her out of the pen, took her over to the edge of the forest and set her down.
Begonia just stood there. She didn't try to run away or follow them. She just stood and watched them, as if to say "What have I got to be hurried about? I've got all the time in the world."
The researchers put the pen back on their truck and wrote some data in their research books. The head of the project finally said, "Well, that's it. She's now free for a year. One of us will be back tomorrow to start our tracking."
The researchers got in their vehicles and drove off.
Mike, Paula, Shellie and Dingo followed them in the SUV.
Shellie and Paula took a look back as they drove off.
Begonia was still standing there, watching them. She stuck her nose high in the air, took a sniff, and snorted loudly.
At that moment, Shellie realized she rather liked Begonia.
###################################################
During the next year, the researchers spent a large part of their time on the six farms. They tracked the GPS patterns of the pigs day and night. They drew up detailed maps about the pigs' movements. They created piles and piles of documents containing detailed statistical data about where the pigs went, what routes they took, how much time they spent in the forest as compared to Mikes' fields, where they slept, how much they slept, the areas they avoided, and how their behavior changed as they aged.
When the year was over, the researchers came back to wrap up their study. They brought a large pen for capturing the pigs they had released a year before.
The researchers set up the pen near where they knew each of the pigs slept. They baited it with special feed that no pig could resist: a mixture of crushed corn, crushed wheat, a bit of salt, and honey.
Within two days, the researchers had caught their first pig. It was a Tubbs. When they had released him, he had weighed 20 pounds. He now weighed nearly 75 pounds. He was extremely healthy except for a few parasites. Living in the wild had seemed to suit him well.
During the next two weeks, the researchers caught four more of the pigs. All were also healthy and quite a bit larger than at their release. None had suffered from their year in the wild.
That only left Begonia.
The researchers set up their pen on Mike's land at a spot about 500 yards from where they knew Begonia usually slept. They placed a large amount of their special honey bait in it.
They came back the next day. Begonia hadn't been caught.
She was also not there the second day.
The researchers decided to give her time. They said the forest and swamp were pretty big, and it might take her a few days to find the pen.
They came back after a week. Begonia still hadn't been caught.
The researchers finally decided to track her down.
They went home for the weekend, and came back on Monday. They brought some powerful tracking tools with them. They came equipped with handheld receivers that would let them pick up the signal from Begonia's GPS device in realtime. They said they would definitely have her by the end of day.
The researchers went down to the edge of the swamp. They turned on their receivers and soon picked up Begonia's signal. She was on the other side of the swamp.
The five researchers spread out in a semi-circle and began to close in on Begonia. They knew Mike had a solid fence on the other side of the swamp. All they had to do was corral Begonia against the fence, tranquilize her with a tranquilizing gun, and load her up.
The swamp was slow going for the researchers. It was far wetter than they had expected. After almost two hours, they all came back to put on hip boots to wade through the water.
After they got their hip boots on, they checked Begonia's position again. This time, their receivers said she had moved about half a mile toward the south.
The researchers spread out again and headed after her. Each of them carried a handheld receiver.
After nearly an hour of wading through high water, the researchers felt they would soon be done with their work. Their receivers told them that Begonia was only 500 yards in front of them.
The researchers began to close in and tighten their half-circle. They checked their receivers. Begonia was only 200 yards in front of them.
They closed in a little more. The head of the team called Mike and told him they almost had her.
After another 100 yards, all five of the researchers could see each other. Their receivers told them that Begonia was right in front of them.
The head of the team got his tranquilizer gun ready. He told the others to close in on Begonia and run her in his direction.
The others slowly walked closer to the source of the signal. They got to within 80 yards of Begonia. They kept going. Soon, she was only 60 yards away. Then 50.
Then something unexpected happened. The signal disappeared.
All of the researchers changed the position of their receivers. A couple of them picked up two more beeps, and then the signal disappeared again.
They looked at each other in disbelief. They all turned around a full 360 degrees with their receivers in hand.
They picked up no signal at all.
The researchers checked their receivers. They decided that there must be a satellite problem.
They called the university to find out what had happened to the satellite. The university checked with the satellite operators.
The operators said there was no problem with the satellite. They said it was in perfect working order.
The researchers spread out through the swamp again. They figured some glitch had slipped into the system at the critical moment. They figured they simply had to locate Begonia again and get her. They at least knew she was there.
For the next two hours, the researchers traipsed through the swamp in their hip boots. Finally, when the sun started going down, the head of the team summoned them all together and told them they had to quit for the day.
He told them they would go back to the hotel for the night, check with the university again about the problem, and come back tomorrow.
When they called the university that night, they were again told that no problem had been found with the satellite.
The next morning, they showed up at sunup. They wanted to get an early start, catch Begonia early in the morning, and head back home.
Things started out good. They picked up Begonia's signal within half an hour. Once again, they put on their hip boots and started out. This time, Begonia's signal showed her to be in the north corner of the swamp.
The five researchers again spread out in a semi-circle and set out. After about an hour, their receivers showed them that they were only 500 yards from Begonia.
The researchers started closing in again.
They got within 400 yards and then 300 yards. The signal from Begonia was strong.
They tightened their circle.
Suddenly, at no more than 200 yards, her signal disappeared again.
All five of the researchers checked their receivers again. This ti
me, they didn't even get a few final beeps. Begonia seemed to have disappeared completely.
The researchers marched from one side of the swamp to the other for the rest of the day. They didn't pick up even one signal from Begonia.
Late that afternoon, they called it quits for the day. They told Mike they would have to go back to the university, find out what was wrong, and come back the next week.
They did exactly that, with a bigger team of researchers.
But even that wasn't enough.
Begonia did the exact same thing. She simply vanished when they got near.
Over the next three months, the researchers came back several more times. Each time, they picked up a signal, got close to Begonia, and then she disappeared.
Finally, the head of the department at the university told the researchers they had used up all their funds for the project. He told them they would just have to forget about Begonia. He told them that five pigs out of six were good enough.
After that, Mike was stuck with Begonia. He knew she was there because she regularly left tracks in his fields and rooted up his plants. She particularly liked the very young, tender plants that were just sprouting. She also liked to raid the corn and peanut fields once the plants began to yield their fruit.
After almost a year, Mike finally decided to get rid of her his way. He called the other five farmers and invited them over for day of a pig hunting. He asked them to bring all their guns and their best hunting dogs.
That day, all five of Mike’s neighbors showed up. They each brought a rifle or a shotgun and a total of 22 dogs: 9 beagles, 8 pointers, two labradors, two golden retrievers and a blue-tick hound.
Paula told her husband, "Don't shoot her if you don't have to."
Mike replied, "We'll see."
Shellie shuddered at the thought of what Mike and his cohort's were doing. She hated the sight and sound of guns. She prayed that Begonia somehow got away. To her, Begonia was far too nice a pig to come to such a horrible end.
The six farmers all set off after Begonia.
After a couple of hours, the beagles picked up her scent. They took off in her direction. They led the six farmers and the other dogs toward the south end of the swamp.
Mike figured his problems were nearly over. Begonia might be able to outsmart a whole university of Ph.D.s and GPS receivers, but she certainly couldn't outsmart six farmers with equipped with guns and 22 dogs.
The dogs started yipping and closed in on Begonia. The farmers were right behind them.
They finally reached a spot with a thicket of bushes about 50 feet wide. The dogs formed a circle around the thicket and barked excitedly.
The farmers slowly closed in with the dogs at their side.
All they had to do was run Begonia out and they had her.
They crept closer and closer.
Suddenly, the dogs stopped barking. They looked around somewhat confused.
The farmers kept moving forward. Soon they all stood face-to-face in the middle of the brush.
They all stared down at what was in front of them. It was a three-foot-wide hole that opened into a deep underground cavern.
There was no sign of Begonia.
Shellie, Dingo, and Mike all rejoiced at having Paula back home. It felt like a cool autumn breeze finally breaking the stifling hold of the endless dog days of summer. They all felt lighter and more energetic than they had in months.
The best part was that Paula was back to her old self. Whatever the problem had been, it was now gone. She again got up at 6:30 every morning. She was always cheerful and in a good mood. She cleaned house after cooking breakfast. She wrote e-mails and surfed the web. She watched television, particularly baseball, with Shellie sitting on her lap. She cooked baked chicken and Shellie's garlic eggs when the preacher and his family dropped by unexpectedly for supper. And she took Shellie and Dingo fishing at least once a week.
Shellie and Dingo quickly regained some weight. So did Mike. All three of them had gradually slimmed down more than they needed to during Paula's absence. They had all eaten during that period, but food hadn't seemed to have much flavor. They had eaten only enough to get by. Otherwise, their meals hadn't had much pleasure.
The only one who definitely hadn't lost any weight was Begonia.
Begonia was a wild sow that lived back in the swamp. She had first come to the farm three years earlier as a young, 25-pound pig. Now, after three years of luxurious living with as many good things to eat as any hog could possibly hope for, she weighed at least 250 pounds. At least that's what the researchers thought. They had to admit that 250 pounds was, in truth, little more than a scientific guess. They hadn't actually seen Begonia in three years. No one had. The only proof that anyone had that Begonia was there and getting ever bigger was the larger and larger pig stools that she left behind. The researchers had confirmed that the sausage-shaped stools belonged to Begonia by doing DNA tests on them.
Over the three years that Begonia had been on the farm, she had turned into a very large sore point between Mike and the researchers. When the researchers had originally brought her to the farm, they had ensured Mike that she would stay just one year and then they would take her back. That hadn't happened. The researchers had certainly tried to catch Begonia. There was only one problem. Begonia had always outsmarted them.
The researchers were a team of Ph.D.s from the state university. Three years earlier, they had contacted Mike and asked him to participate in what they called a "Porcine Behavioral Pattern Research Project".
At first, Mike had refused. Mike was highly cautious about getting involved in any sort of project that he didn't have complete control of. He was also suspicious about any human whom he hadn't known since childhood. And he was particularly suspicious about anyone with a Ph.D. behind their name. To him, Ph.D. was just a short way of saying "too smart to do any real work".
However, the Ph.D.s eventually applied peer pressure. They convinced five other neighboring farmers to participate in their project. And then they got those farmers to work on Mike.
Mike balked at the other farmers when they first appealed to him. But they didn't give up. They kept visiting him on a regular basis. They all reminded him that they had all known each other since they were boys. They told him that the results of the project would benefit them all, and, besides, their names would get published in the final paper that would be written about the project. The only other public venue several of them had ever had their name published was in the police roster.
Mike wasn't at all interested in getting his name published in a paper. But he finally gave in to the appeals of the other farmers. They eventually convinced him that the results of the project would help him get rid of an annoying problem that all of them had: wild hogs that kept destroying their crops and causing lots of other damage on their farms.
After Mike finally agreed to join in, all six of the farmers met with the researchers to sign an official agreement. According to the agreement, the researchers would release one pig on forested area on each of the farms. Each pig would be tagged with a GPS signalling device in its ear. The researchers would then track the pigs for a year. They would determine their eating, sleeping, and roaming habits and patterns, and, most important, they would determine why wild hogs were so good at not getting caught. After the researchers got their results, they planned to devise new ways of catching even the most evasive wild hog.
One by one, the farmers and the researchers signed the agreement. About two weeks later, the researchers brought the six pigs to the farms. The researchers had named the six pigs Otis, Grunt, Magnolia, Peanut, Tubbs, and Begonia. Begonia had been assigned to Mike and Paula.
When the researchers came to release Begonia on Mike's land, Mike, Paula, Shellie, and Dingo went with them down to the edge of the forest.
Before the researchers let Begonia out of the pen on their truck, Paula, Shellie and Dingo walked over to take a look at her.
Paula held Shellie in her arms as they studied Begonia. Dingo stood beside them. He was unusually subdued. He didn't try to bark at her or get near her cage. He seemed to sense that she was not a creature to chase.
Begonia was white with a few black and brown spots. She had a red-and-black GPS tag in one ear. She didn't squeal or make any noise. She just sat there in the pen and watched what was going on around her. She didn't seem frightened or excited. If anything, she appeared haughty.
She directed her gaze at Paula and Shellie. She first stared Paula in the eyes. Then she let her eyes settle on Shellie. She sat there completely still for a moment.
Shellie looked at Paula and then back at Begonia. Begonia made her feel somehow uncomfortable, as if Shellie were looking at a superior being who not only knew that she was superior but also knew how to use it to her advantage.
Then Begonia turned to the side and let her eyes roam over the men standing there. After she had looked at them all, she raised her head high and looked at Paula and Shellie again. She let out a sharp noise that sounded very close to a "Harumph!". It was as if to say "They're only men. Without us women, they're nothing."
Paula turned to her husband and said, "That pig's smarter than you think."
Mike didn't say anything. Neither did the researchers. They just gave each other quizzical looks.
The researchers lowered the pen to the ground and opened the door. Begonia looked at them as if to say "So what?"
Shellie had to admit that she had never seen such a cocky and arrogant pig in her life.
One of the researchers finally had to crawl into the pen to shoo her out. Begonia still didn't budge. She sat there with her rear in one corner of the pen. Her hind feet stuck out in front of her and projected slightly upward, as if they were outfitted with stilettos.
The researcher crawled over to her and put an arm around her. Begonia didn't resist. The researcher lifted her up, brought her out of the pen, took her over to the edge of the forest and set her down.
Begonia just stood there. She didn't try to run away or follow them. She just stood and watched them, as if to say "What have I got to be hurried about? I've got all the time in the world."
The researchers put the pen back on their truck and wrote some data in their research books. The head of the project finally said, "Well, that's it. She's now free for a year. One of us will be back tomorrow to start our tracking."
The researchers got in their vehicles and drove off.
Mike, Paula, Shellie and Dingo followed them in the SUV.
Shellie and Paula took a look back as they drove off.
Begonia was still standing there, watching them. She stuck her nose high in the air, took a sniff, and snorted loudly.
At that moment, Shellie realized she rather liked Begonia.
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During the next year, the researchers spent a large part of their time on the six farms. They tracked the GPS patterns of the pigs day and night. They drew up detailed maps about the pigs' movements. They created piles and piles of documents containing detailed statistical data about where the pigs went, what routes they took, how much time they spent in the forest as compared to Mikes' fields, where they slept, how much they slept, the areas they avoided, and how their behavior changed as they aged.
When the year was over, the researchers came back to wrap up their study. They brought a large pen for capturing the pigs they had released a year before.
The researchers set up the pen near where they knew each of the pigs slept. They baited it with special feed that no pig could resist: a mixture of crushed corn, crushed wheat, a bit of salt, and honey.
Within two days, the researchers had caught their first pig. It was a Tubbs. When they had released him, he had weighed 20 pounds. He now weighed nearly 75 pounds. He was extremely healthy except for a few parasites. Living in the wild had seemed to suit him well.
During the next two weeks, the researchers caught four more of the pigs. All were also healthy and quite a bit larger than at their release. None had suffered from their year in the wild.
That only left Begonia.
The researchers set up their pen on Mike's land at a spot about 500 yards from where they knew Begonia usually slept. They placed a large amount of their special honey bait in it.
They came back the next day. Begonia hadn't been caught.
She was also not there the second day.
The researchers decided to give her time. They said the forest and swamp were pretty big, and it might take her a few days to find the pen.
They came back after a week. Begonia still hadn't been caught.
The researchers finally decided to track her down.
They went home for the weekend, and came back on Monday. They brought some powerful tracking tools with them. They came equipped with handheld receivers that would let them pick up the signal from Begonia's GPS device in realtime. They said they would definitely have her by the end of day.
The researchers went down to the edge of the swamp. They turned on their receivers and soon picked up Begonia's signal. She was on the other side of the swamp.
The five researchers spread out in a semi-circle and began to close in on Begonia. They knew Mike had a solid fence on the other side of the swamp. All they had to do was corral Begonia against the fence, tranquilize her with a tranquilizing gun, and load her up.
The swamp was slow going for the researchers. It was far wetter than they had expected. After almost two hours, they all came back to put on hip boots to wade through the water.
After they got their hip boots on, they checked Begonia's position again. This time, their receivers said she had moved about half a mile toward the south.
The researchers spread out again and headed after her. Each of them carried a handheld receiver.
After nearly an hour of wading through high water, the researchers felt they would soon be done with their work. Their receivers told them that Begonia was only 500 yards in front of them.
The researchers began to close in and tighten their half-circle. They checked their receivers. Begonia was only 200 yards in front of them.
They closed in a little more. The head of the team called Mike and told him they almost had her.
After another 100 yards, all five of the researchers could see each other. Their receivers told them that Begonia was right in front of them.
The head of the team got his tranquilizer gun ready. He told the others to close in on Begonia and run her in his direction.
The others slowly walked closer to the source of the signal. They got to within 80 yards of Begonia. They kept going. Soon, she was only 60 yards away. Then 50.
Then something unexpected happened. The signal disappeared.
All of the researchers changed the position of their receivers. A couple of them picked up two more beeps, and then the signal disappeared again.
They looked at each other in disbelief. They all turned around a full 360 degrees with their receivers in hand.
They picked up no signal at all.
The researchers checked their receivers. They decided that there must be a satellite problem.
They called the university to find out what had happened to the satellite. The university checked with the satellite operators.
The operators said there was no problem with the satellite. They said it was in perfect working order.
The researchers spread out through the swamp again. They figured some glitch had slipped into the system at the critical moment. They figured they simply had to locate Begonia again and get her. They at least knew she was there.
For the next two hours, the researchers traipsed through the swamp in their hip boots. Finally, when the sun started going down, the head of the team summoned them all together and told them they had to quit for the day.
He told them they would go back to the hotel for the night, check with the university again about the problem, and come back tomorrow.
When they called the university that night, they were again told that no problem had been found with the satellite.
The next morning, they showed up at sunup. They wanted to get an early start, catch Begonia early in the morning, and head back home.
Things started out good. They picked up Begonia's signal within half an hour. Once again, they put on their hip boots and started out. This time, Begonia's signal showed her to be in the north corner of the swamp.
The five researchers again spread out in a semi-circle and set out. After about an hour, their receivers showed them that they were only 500 yards from Begonia.
The researchers started closing in again.
They got within 400 yards and then 300 yards. The signal from Begonia was strong.
They tightened their circle.
Suddenly, at no more than 200 yards, her signal disappeared again.
All five of the researchers checked their receivers again. This ti
me, they didn't even get a few final beeps. Begonia seemed to have disappeared completely.
The researchers marched from one side of the swamp to the other for the rest of the day. They didn't pick up even one signal from Begonia.
Late that afternoon, they called it quits for the day. They told Mike they would have to go back to the university, find out what was wrong, and come back the next week.
They did exactly that, with a bigger team of researchers.
But even that wasn't enough.
Begonia did the exact same thing. She simply vanished when they got near.
Over the next three months, the researchers came back several more times. Each time, they picked up a signal, got close to Begonia, and then she disappeared.
Finally, the head of the department at the university told the researchers they had used up all their funds for the project. He told them they would just have to forget about Begonia. He told them that five pigs out of six were good enough.
After that, Mike was stuck with Begonia. He knew she was there because she regularly left tracks in his fields and rooted up his plants. She particularly liked the very young, tender plants that were just sprouting. She also liked to raid the corn and peanut fields once the plants began to yield their fruit.
After almost a year, Mike finally decided to get rid of her his way. He called the other five farmers and invited them over for day of a pig hunting. He asked them to bring all their guns and their best hunting dogs.
That day, all five of Mike’s neighbors showed up. They each brought a rifle or a shotgun and a total of 22 dogs: 9 beagles, 8 pointers, two labradors, two golden retrievers and a blue-tick hound.
Paula told her husband, "Don't shoot her if you don't have to."
Mike replied, "We'll see."
Shellie shuddered at the thought of what Mike and his cohort's were doing. She hated the sight and sound of guns. She prayed that Begonia somehow got away. To her, Begonia was far too nice a pig to come to such a horrible end.
The six farmers all set off after Begonia.
After a couple of hours, the beagles picked up her scent. They took off in her direction. They led the six farmers and the other dogs toward the south end of the swamp.
Mike figured his problems were nearly over. Begonia might be able to outsmart a whole university of Ph.D.s and GPS receivers, but she certainly couldn't outsmart six farmers with equipped with guns and 22 dogs.
The dogs started yipping and closed in on Begonia. The farmers were right behind them.
They finally reached a spot with a thicket of bushes about 50 feet wide. The dogs formed a circle around the thicket and barked excitedly.
The farmers slowly closed in with the dogs at their side.
All they had to do was run Begonia out and they had her.
They crept closer and closer.
Suddenly, the dogs stopped barking. They looked around somewhat confused.
The farmers kept moving forward. Soon they all stood face-to-face in the middle of the brush.
They all stared down at what was in front of them. It was a three-foot-wide hole that opened into a deep underground cavern.
There was no sign of Begonia.
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