Day: September 3, 2011

I thank Maria for this photo of two asses on the road, again. Simon is doing very well on our daily walks. I have convinced him that the walks are not only about eating grass and leaves, although they are about that in part, and part of the fun is just walking around, and he is getting into that. He is a patient, gentle, and intelligent soul. He is a working animal now, a voice for the complexity of animal rescue, a spark for thoughts about compassion and mercy inside and out of the animal culture, a companion for me in ways that surprise me.

I didn’t mean for it to be this way, but Simon is an inspirational figure to many people, in different parts of the world, and that is extremely important work for any animal, and we both take it seriously.  Simon loves people, loves attention, and he has that special quality animals who have been to the edge of life sometimes have, of conveying a deep sense of appreciation and connection. I am looking forward to letting people meet him at Maria’s Art Show At Bedlam Farm, to be held Columbus Day weekend, Saturday and Sunday, 11 to 4. I will be there also, signing copies of “Going Home: Finding Peace When Animals Die,” which can be purchased locally either at Battenkill Books (518 677-2515) or at Gardenworks, (518 854-3250). Maria will be showing the functional an inexpensive art of nine local artists. Details on her website.

Christine Nemec and I have agreed to print up a Simon notecard series to go with the other notecards available for Fall and Christmas – chickens, donkeys, dogs, snow-covered barns, flowers. You can check them out on her site, www.reduxart.com. The Simon series will be available in a few weeks.

I always remind myself, pretty as they are, that these eyes are the last thing many creatures see in this world.

I’m devoting some space this weekend to the idea of work, for myself as well as for animals. Mother, my oldest barn cat, is a working animal, through and through. She was brought to the farm to help fend off a rat infestation – the rats were big, tough and fearless. They were all gone within weeks, even the biggest ones, so large my dogs would run from them.

Mother follows me everywhere, watches me from the meadows, sits near me and demands to be petted, but not held. She refuses to come into the house, even on the bitterest cold nights. She is the monarch of the barns, popping in and out of one, then the other, avoiding the many pitfalls of a barn cat’s life – coyotes, foxes, cars and trucks, hawks and stray dogs, hunters and crazy people who shoot barn cats.

She prowls at night, and in the morning, sleeps in the mid-day and early afternoon, appears and then disappears, sometimes for days at time. She kills beautiful birds, mice, moles, chipmunks, squirrels, spiders and snakes, and deposits their parts right by the back door for Maria and I to see. She is a merciless killer and loving companion, the great odd dichotomy of cats. One day she will probably not return, and that is the life of a barn cat, and I accept and respect it. I feed her at least once every day and she gets all of her shots each year. Beyond this, she is on her own, living her life, as she wants to live it. This weekend, I salute here and tomorrow, I’ll take Rose out and move some sheep around to honor another proud working creature on Labor Day Weekend. And I want to write about Frieda, who guards the farm so vigilantly.

And maybe the chickens, who eat so industriously and lay eggs. I said today they were dumb, and was soundly taken to task for that, so I willl have to reconsider this idea.

At the height of Irene, we opened the barn door and Simon stared out at the wind and the rain for the longest time. It was quiet, eerily touching, even against the backdrop of the torrential rains. He and Irene seemed familiar to one another.

Simon gave me a lusty greeting this morning, and so did the chickens. We brought them some peaches from yesterday and they had a good time. Alice was interested in my camera. We are heading to Vermont to check things out. For me, each day is a choice. The less fear I feel, the more I live, love and work.

Meg the hen is reminding me of the curious nature of chickens, one of the animal world’s most amazing creatures.

Chickens, to me, are intriguing.

They appear to always have something to say, but never do.

They are seem to be intensely curious, but are not.

They appear remarkably intelligent, but are  not.

They move in remarkable synchronicity with one another, like puppets on a strings, each movement of one affecting the movement of all in an oddly rational disconnected way.

Some chickens, like some dogs and cows have learned the great secret of the animal world – look people in the eye and they will love and protect you and write all sorts of wondrous scripts about what you are thinking and feeling. Mostly, you are thinking about food, but they will not care. Meg has learned this.

Chickens are ec0-friendly. You may not need a compost heap with chickens around.

Chickens give back. They lay eggs.

Roosters are hilariously pompous, official, self-important. And loud.

Chickens are energetic. They work and work and work, get nowhere much and are easily excited.

Chickens are dumb. But harmlessly so.