pretend

I’ve been listening to Nonyana’s 4 boys pretend to crow early in the morning, afternoon, lunchtime. Pretty much whenever they get a chance. I say pretend because what comes out of their mouths cannot yet be termed a crow. It comes out all wrong. I don’t know how the humans are coping with this but it’s driving me crazy. First comes the scramble up a tree to gain a height advantage and then follows the disappointing gurgle. I can’t believe I was ever like this.

A point of interest about roosters  is their reaction to male offspring. I  can’t stand them!! In the jungle of course they would leave the nest and begin their own family but in these suburban environs it’s up to the humans to find a home for them. Fortunately I have noticed that they don’t yet have names. No names means that the pot has not been ruled out. Shocking you might think!! But I’ve heard of similar things that you humans do to your female offspring. Now that to me is shocking.

Anyway, I am meandering. Pretend. It’s so popular in these new psycho-babble-10-steps kind of ways. This kind of touchy-feely is rampant in the esoteric worlds but I see the concepts have put on a suit and tie and moved into the business world. Must be all those business-types secretly reading their wives energetically empowering books at night. The idea is that one must pretend. I know there is probably a more nuanced word for this, but it  is pretending, it’s playing the character that you want to be. The universe in it’s bountiful way needs only to see the heartfelt desire coupled with some consistent visualisation technique and water is but concrete walkway.

This led me to thinking about a theme that I often find with writers. The notebook. The capturer of those whimsical, fleeting, droplets of pure genius. I often mock this concept but as I turned it over in my mind it seemed to grow hair on it’s chest and a deep throated cockadoodle doo. Yes! So I am going to explore this writing persona. If you see some shady looking rooster furiously scrawling in a dark corner that will be me. It might even be in the queue at the local Spar, I so love perving other people’s purchases.

The gem for my inspiration has been the Guardian’s book section. They have a running series called Rules for writers.

My favourite has been by one of my all time best writers Margaret Atwood. Margaret Atwood’s rules for writers. They are funny, she must spend lots of time in airplanes. My friend joked that she must also not have ever heard of a pencil sharpener. I laughed but only until I realised the blasphemy of my actions. I throw myself at your feet Margaret.

The other is by somebody I have never read, a man by the name of Michael Morpurgo. Maybe you can enlighten me. I actually liked his rules more. His way of working resonated more with how ideas jump from my head to the screen.

Enjoy. Be inspired.

hatchlings

It takes 35 days to raise a chick to a 2 kg chicken.

It takes 21 days for an egg to become a chicken.

It takes a day to lay an egg.

The first of these figures I heard from a colleague who runs the family business. He was once a software engineer and claims that the process is so hi-tech that he still gets to stretch his analytical engineer side. The other two I know from experience. After restraining myself from correcting Pula’s meandering inconsistencies re the girls and myself, I decided to step in and set the record straight.

My name is Puleng,

Taking a stroll

the female counterpart to Pula. How? I was shocked by the 35 day time because I have never seen such rapid growth and of course us bantams are not very big chickens. The obvious answer is the very controlled environment that these chickens grow up in. Everything, from their CO2/O2 levels, the amount of feed, water and ambient light are all rigorously monitored and optimised. For disease, they are inoculated twice and a diet of hormones is mixed with their feed to help with that growth spurt. Just in case you are getting worried, the hormones are stopped the week before they are captured and sent to the slaughter-house. This, the scientists have calculated, is enough time for the hormones to be washed out of their systems!! You, like me, may have your doubts.

As Pula has described, life for us is very different. Contrary to his assertion, we do lay in Winter, not quite as much as in Spring though. It is the extremes of temperature that have us holding back. You can imagine what a strain it is to sit for 21 days with 15-30 minute breaks everyday.  In the beginning, all it is is that peculiar feeling that I can only describe as a desire to squat. I was really shocked when after this feeling, I stood up to find a beautiful little egg. I quickly learnt to associate this feeling with eggs and learnt to find or even make a warm, soft place to put them all. Then I became overcome with this protective feeling that made it harder and harder to leave the nest, I think you call it brooding. When sitting, all energy goes towards keeping the eggs warm. You lose weight, your feathers become ruffled and unkempt and it feels like you are in a perpetual daze. All this time, Pula just wants to jump on you and squirt.

Rather than dissipate, this broody feeling begins to swell up inside of you. On those last days there is a stillness in the haze. Those of you who may have fasted for some days may understand the feeling of simplicity and clarity. That is why it was shocking when through this silence, the eggs started to speak. I thought I was hallucinating but there they were, making little squeaking sounds. When days later, they started moving from under me, then cracked open to reveal the cutest noonoos, I felt as if my heart would break. I’m sorry, I’m going on… I’m quite the sentimentalist you see. I didn’t mean to put you off your dinner, it’s just hard to think of counting down 35 days from this…

A flood of laying

Some of the noonoos and yours

“Animal factories are one more sign of the extent to which our technological capacities have advanced faster than our ethics.” -Peter Singer, philosopher, professor of bioethics (1946- )

babalas – a south african word for a hangover

Oh my head!! I am desperate to sever my head and the hangover headache that consumes it. It’s a terrifying image if you have ever had the misfortune to see a headless chicken running around spewing blood before collapsing in a heap.  Was out last night, at a restaurant and I overdid my favourite tipple, Pinot Grigio – oh old age, there was a time when such excesses had no effect on me whatsoever. I’ve been chanting the “Never again…” mantra all morning but the babalas gods have not forgiven me. Anyone know any good hang over remedies?? Right now, I’m eating anything salty I can get my hands on.

Glorified me

Anyway, today’s post was supposed to be an introduction to me.  I so hate it when people just go “Hi, my name is Buff, I’m a software engineer”. Where’s the intrigue? Where’s the element of discovery? This was going to be a long, drawn out, flirtation of an introduction but alas my circumstances dictate haste. My name is Pula. I’m a 2 year old suburbanite bantam cock with a harem of 6. In pecking order, they are Puleng, Silkie, Blackie, The Ballerina, Nonyana and Hope. I came from a farm outside the city with Puleng. Our names are both references to rain in Sesotho, a southern african language. This peculiarity stems from the abundance of rain that followed our arrival.  Puleng gave birth to Silkie and Blackie.  Blackie, is quite simply black and Silkie looks a bit like a silkie, even though she isn’t really one. I know this may shock a human, but incest is not frowned upon in fowl culture – don’t judge me now. Moving along – The Ballerina is a silkie, she does’nt really associate herself with the harem and has brought up Hope. It’s still not clear whether Hope is going to be a boy or girl yet. If he is a boy he’ll have to go. There’s only room for one stud!! It’s the only rule, the one which gives birth to all others. Then, lastly there is Nonyana. She is the most recent addition to the harem. She is so-called because she resembles a bird. I’ve really just skimmed over my lovelies, and in time I shall go into more detail and put up a pic or two. We have a glorious time and I’m really enamoured of them all.

Now I have to go and give attention to the head.  Never again…