Philosophical Monday or chicken slaughtering for beginners

Mysweet slept badly on Saturday night.

Sunday morning was going to be the moment of truth for Tom, Dick and Harry, the cockerels.

Mysweet had been agonising about the procedure that would ensure the least suffering. He seemed to feel that it was an important part of being a meat eater…the readiness to assume responsibility for the death of the animal. It had taken on a spiritual dimension, the respect for life and the animal that had given up its own in order to feed us.

I feel it myself when I pop the live crabs in the boiling water. I find myself thanking them silently.

It is because we all have it in common, don’t we? Life. Followed by death.

It also seems to be more difficult the closer an animal approaches us in intelligence.

But it is a spectrum. Intelligence and complexity.

I watch the dogs working on Sunday morning on my cliff top as they intelligently search for bits of wood to drop at the feet of their God-like masters and meditate on the ease with which we permit ourselves to take life from those we consider our intellectual inferiors.

I think of my autist students. Some of them live so very much in their own world that they are sometimes unaware of their surroundings and problems posed by their immediate environment, and are perhaps the happier for it.
But on Thursday morning the boy with the red hair looked at me for a moment with trapped pain in his eyes, aware that something was happening that he did not understand… understanding that he did not understand.

When I return, the deed is done and Mysweet is cleaning the last bird, pleased that he has completed his task quickly without causing suffering.

I wonder if there is an intelligence, somewhere, that would consider us as dogs or chickens in comparison with itself...
My problem is the same as the boy with red hair’s: I understand just enough to know that I don’t understand.

Eggbound

We are looking after Benoit's animals while he is on holiday in Canada.


We feed Pussy, issue of our house, who now resides with him.
Our other responsibilities revolve around his chicken empire. (Five laying birds)


I wobble off on my bicycle down the hill every morning to let out his flock and check their food and water and breathe a sigh of relief that another night has passed and I will not have to explain to him how the fox managed to burrow in and massacre them all.


I am to have free use of his eggs as a reward for my neighbourliness.
At first, this was a carrot that sustained me as I peddled back up the hill twice a day, shouting at a loitering Porridge to follow me or risk being squashed by the tractor that passes by about once a month.


But the blessing has become a mixed one. Four of our hens are laying as well.


We are starting to feel oppressed by this unlooked for bounty.


Darling D and I studied recipe books yesterday and realised that we might well be forced to eat lots of chocolate puddings. We decided to have a go at a cheese soufflé for starters. I felt that this might be a useful weapon in her armoury when French friends sneer at English kitchen incompetence cooking skills.










It was very successful as you can see, light and fluffy, but a bit, well .......eggy.










My eyes start to bulge like boiled eggs as I contemplate having to eat yet another one of these:




Any recipes for eggs that totally disguise the fact that you are eating eggs will be welcome. I eagerly await your suggestions... please... I can't go on much longer.

Freedom?

I have found myself feeling low and reflective the last few days. Thinking about where I am and where I would like to be. The nest is emptying and the excuses for inaction are disappearing.

I am left with a lump in my chest which feels a lot like grief.

This must be freedom then.

From responsibilites and ties.

I have heard people talk about their children leaving home and how traumatic it is…and yeah, yeah, so what…how bad can that be?

I have never been a particularly “hands on” Mum, poking her nose into every aspect of my children’s development.
I like to think of myself as more of a “let well enough alone” sort of Mum.

A light touch now and again to guide.
And the occasional bout of ferocious shouting…

I have been lucky. Neither of them have had any real problems. All they needed was space to grow and bloom. And they have.

It has been the most wonderful journey, watching them change from those seeds full of potential to complex characters with fascinating bits of me and him woven seamlessly into the new and unexpected.
And that, I realise now, is what I will miss the most.

A ringside seat.

To watch the greatest show on earth.

A new person growing, changing, fulfilling their potential, and becoming themselves.

Oh well…I still have the chickens…

Kitty does it again...

Yes, just when we thought it safe to let her out immediately after her last batch, she went out gallivanting again. This time she is grounded and we are taking no chances. As you can see she is a little fatigued after two such close confinements. We have found homes for them but enough is enough. I hope Porridge doesn't get any ideas.

Here is the destruction caused by Porridge's gentleman caller when he jumped over the wall, and it is not a small wall...(the turquoise tube is a hose pipe kept handy to spray him down by way of discouragement, but it takes more than that it seems...)

I suppose he was annoyed at finding her out, and trashed her house...

The danger is passed. Today, she was actually interested in chasing a stick.

And last but not least, while we are wandering about in my back garden, here is the chickens' new residence. In their place, and considering that we live in france, I would be worried by the resemblance of the door to a guillotine, but it doesn't seem to trouble them too much...

Here Come the Girls

When new neighbours move in, we like to think about inviting them round for dinner:

This one looks particularly juicy pretty.

But this one is a bit scary. The farmer said it could be a rooster.

But I am sure it is a vulture. Take a look at that neck...