Finnegan Rules the Chicken Coop
Funny thing about farming, although realistically, this is hardly a farm, but for lack of a better word, we do have have about 50 chickens, 1 goat, 1 cat and 1dog that we tend to - now if I could figure out a way to control and discover a monetary use for black flies, mosquitoes, gnats and every other blood sucking thing that abounds by the millions and lives in our direct vicinity - an insect farm might just become a viable enterprise. There is also a garden of sorts if you call potted veggies around our well a garden - it's more what a person would expect to see on the 175th floor of an apartment building in a major city but still it will be nice to have a few fresh tomatoes, lettuce and whatever else survives the onslaught of other insects that prefer vegetation to flesh. But then Rome wasn't built in a day and oddly enough, when it was finally finished, you can be sure it was built by slaves, the sounds of whips flaying flesh not too unlike the sounds of horns in a busy metropolis as the masses scurry about to their jobs, however, instead of a lash, they receive a pay cheque.
Unfortunately, life has changed, the majority of the people have turned their backs on Nature and opened their arms to cement, glass, plastic, shiny objects, machinery, computers, etc. etc. and as a result, we have become less of a species and truly missed the glory of what could have been a remarkable feat for mankind in general - a real garden of Eden to bequeath each generation. Ah, the cynic is coming out in me once again, but I think it's better to be somewhat cynical than go through life with my head in a hole or up my arse and thinking the messes I've created will sort themselves out in the long run and everything will be beautiful. True beauty cannot be found without thorns - besides a little pain makes one more appreciative of what they have. Sweat rolling down my face, shoulders, my belly and dripping off my knees is actually a good feeling - I just don't want to stand still too long or I might get stuck in the sweaty mud puddle I've created. I don't begrudge my aches and pains either when I see the results of my accomplishments and when I think about it, just living to what we deem as old age is also an accomplishment of sorts - did I really think I'd wind up sitting by a pool, sipping a pina calada, drooling over some young honey-coloured babe - now how f---king boring would that be, when the only thing I was looking forward to was the buffet, so I could stuff my face with the rest of porkers surrounding the abundant trough.
Perhaps Finnegan has the right idea - taking a snooze under the nesting boxes. But don't let the photo fool you, although it was taken some time ago and he looks like a lazy old cat, he had just performed a job for me during the night. As it turned out, one of the hens had been actually attacked by a weasel (a blood sucking rodent) in the chicken coop so I'd locked him in overnight to take care of the little varmint, should it decide to return. I never saw the weasel again and whether it was the cat that deterred its presence, I shall never know. But Finnegan, even though he is well fed, not to the extent he'll turn into a Garfield, he is hell on four furry paws - mice, weasels, squirrels, moles and other wily rodents are his game and unfortunately so is the odd bird. I like to prefer to Finnigan as our watch-cat - he does a job, which isn't much different than the dog's duties. Like the other morning for instance, instead of taking the dog for a walk about a mile distance, the cat took it upon itself to follow me. I was glad to see the feisty little feline was street smart too because whenever a vehicle came near, he ducked into the bushes and wouldn't come out until it had passed. I wish I could say the same for our feathery raptors; one of the hens got whacked by a car a few days ago; expect some varmints are feeding on its carcass still.
The sun is shining this fine June morning, and although the chickens were let out of the coop quite some time ago, I still have a few farmy chores to attend to before continuing work on the baby-barn. I'm hoping my friend Lyndon Canam from on top of Green Mountain drops by today to give me a hand to finish off my electric wiring. My hair is already curly enough without giving myself any more shocks while I try figuring out how to attach the wires to the light switch. The wiring diagrams make it all look so easy but my body is still vibrating from my lack of achievement concerning the actual wiring at hand. It's almost 7:30am - time to get on with the remainder of the day; let the sweat drip and the aches begin - cheers, eh!
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