the taste of victory
...is a lot like chicken.
Four full days of stiflin' heat. Four. It's to the point where I can not keep the water in me and that which is going in, ain't finding it's way out in the bathroom. I am feeling the effects. I am constantly wiping dirt and sweat and hair from my face, but it's to no use. The nature-has-done-me-in feeling is too much.
For some reason, during this little heat wave, I find myself, outside trying to complete little tasks that seem pointless. For example; my brother and I started a chicken coup for the new chickens and we were unable to finish it. Not having the money that my brother has to complete the project, the frame of the coop is there, but the chickens are not. Needing a place to put the now, 11 pound chickens in, I have constructed the THIRD temporary chicken coop to contain them until money finds it's way back into the permanent structure.
Before the project, the chickens were living on the north side of the barn in a 10x10 space, which was too small for twenty chickens. The new space is on the southern half of the barn and is double the space. However, things are sitting where the new coop is to be and that requires some heavy lifting (in the heat), moving elsewhere (in the heat), the space must be cleared (in the heat) supports built (in the heat) chicken wire, which is designed to make fools of mighty men, must be strung up (in the heat), then a gate built (in the heat) and then the transfer of the feeders, water supply and roost from one temp coop to the other must be done (in the heat) and then.... Chicken wrangling. ( in... the... heat)
Chickens are no easy task. For all that they are not, they are truly blessed with the ability to be evasive. If you are going to live in nature as the embodiment of all things frightened and become the term by which all things that live in fear are labeled, you have to be the best at it. The best at being afraid. Chickens are masters. They have no shame. They will run, attempt to fly, squawk, push other chickens in their way, anything... not to be the one you choose. They don't care what you want with them, they don't even want to know. They just would rather turn a blind eye to the whole affair. If you grab another chicken, all the better. It's not THEM you are after and they can live with that, guilt free. Sure, they will miss their coop mate, but this game of survival is every cock for themselves.
Even in an enclosed space, grabbing a chicken is not easy. What looks like a docile animal, come alive and can really move. And I mean, FAST! No matter how graceful, cool, collected or talented you are, chicken chasing will make you look like a fucking idiot. You look like a huge 9 month old trying to grab a toy that is too big for you to pick up. You're legs are useless, they move with a clumpy awkwardness that reminds me of Frankenstein or people with spinal cord injuries in rehab. The arms are streached out as if you are trying to hug the chickens as opposed to catch them. None of the chickens like you that much and are doing everything they can to avoid you. Now, the fact that no chicken will turn, face you and hug you back means that your arms are up for a while and you are turning back and forth and looking terribly stupid.
THEN...
You get one of those lazy fuckers. If you are thinking that you can wear out a chicken, think again. All that general laying around that chickens do is so they can save enough energy for just this very moment. And they don't hold back. It will be two hours later and that chicken will be panting, running and staring wide eyed at you from the opposite end of the coop as you lay there, dying. Chicken's hearts are very small, much like the Grinch, and they will just let you die there. Even after you die, they will still just stare at you. For months.
But, you caught one. Luck, is the only plan that works here. But once you have a chicken it's a whole new game. The game is called, holding on to that chicken. Fortunately, the chicken will submit after a few seconds, but those first few seconds are doozies. Riding a bull is for pussies. Chicken wrestling is a craft. To put this into perspective; cock fighting is popular around the world, because they can do some serious damage when they want too. Now, take one rooster out of that fight and put your arms in it's place and GET ON WITH YOUR BAD SELF!
Twenty four chickens, two hours and several scratches later, I am done (in the heat).
It's the little projects that sound so simple that find a way of becoming so much more. What looked like an hour of work, turned into the whole day. Of course, I was taking water breaks every ten minutes and I had other "watering" things to do (flowers and gardens are pretty parched even with hours of watering a day... in the heat).
I learn something new, every day that I am here. You find out things about yourself and the life it is, without ever really noticing that you are getting that education. Taking the time to work on a strategy for gathering chickens in a 10x10 space was weird thinking, but useful. Building a another fucking coop was not exciting to me and, in the heat, was even less exciting, but I did it. I knew that the chickens needed a new space. Letting them roam free has cost the ponderosa some beautiful flowers and there is a minefield of chicken shit on everything you can see. Getting them in a new, larger, enclosed space was necessary and worth all that I had to endure... to make sure the flowers looked good. EVERYTHING at this house, gets a fair shot at life. EVERYTHING here gets an equal amount of attention and care. EVERYTHING here should be free from torment from the other denizens that live here. It is my job to guarantee that that is possible.
I can't wait to kill those fucking chickens.
Four full days of stiflin' heat. Four. It's to the point where I can not keep the water in me and that which is going in, ain't finding it's way out in the bathroom. I am feeling the effects. I am constantly wiping dirt and sweat and hair from my face, but it's to no use. The nature-has-done-me-in feeling is too much.
For some reason, during this little heat wave, I find myself, outside trying to complete little tasks that seem pointless. For example; my brother and I started a chicken coup for the new chickens and we were unable to finish it. Not having the money that my brother has to complete the project, the frame of the coop is there, but the chickens are not. Needing a place to put the now, 11 pound chickens in, I have constructed the THIRD temporary chicken coop to contain them until money finds it's way back into the permanent structure.
Before the project, the chickens were living on the north side of the barn in a 10x10 space, which was too small for twenty chickens. The new space is on the southern half of the barn and is double the space. However, things are sitting where the new coop is to be and that requires some heavy lifting (in the heat), moving elsewhere (in the heat), the space must be cleared (in the heat) supports built (in the heat) chicken wire, which is designed to make fools of mighty men, must be strung up (in the heat), then a gate built (in the heat) and then the transfer of the feeders, water supply and roost from one temp coop to the other must be done (in the heat) and then.... Chicken wrangling. ( in... the... heat)
Chickens are no easy task. For all that they are not, they are truly blessed with the ability to be evasive. If you are going to live in nature as the embodiment of all things frightened and become the term by which all things that live in fear are labeled, you have to be the best at it. The best at being afraid. Chickens are masters. They have no shame. They will run, attempt to fly, squawk, push other chickens in their way, anything... not to be the one you choose. They don't care what you want with them, they don't even want to know. They just would rather turn a blind eye to the whole affair. If you grab another chicken, all the better. It's not THEM you are after and they can live with that, guilt free. Sure, they will miss their coop mate, but this game of survival is every cock for themselves.
Even in an enclosed space, grabbing a chicken is not easy. What looks like a docile animal, come alive and can really move. And I mean, FAST! No matter how graceful, cool, collected or talented you are, chicken chasing will make you look like a fucking idiot. You look like a huge 9 month old trying to grab a toy that is too big for you to pick up. You're legs are useless, they move with a clumpy awkwardness that reminds me of Frankenstein or people with spinal cord injuries in rehab. The arms are streached out as if you are trying to hug the chickens as opposed to catch them. None of the chickens like you that much and are doing everything they can to avoid you. Now, the fact that no chicken will turn, face you and hug you back means that your arms are up for a while and you are turning back and forth and looking terribly stupid.
THEN...
You get one of those lazy fuckers. If you are thinking that you can wear out a chicken, think again. All that general laying around that chickens do is so they can save enough energy for just this very moment. And they don't hold back. It will be two hours later and that chicken will be panting, running and staring wide eyed at you from the opposite end of the coop as you lay there, dying. Chicken's hearts are very small, much like the Grinch, and they will just let you die there. Even after you die, they will still just stare at you. For months.
But, you caught one. Luck, is the only plan that works here. But once you have a chicken it's a whole new game. The game is called, holding on to that chicken. Fortunately, the chicken will submit after a few seconds, but those first few seconds are doozies. Riding a bull is for pussies. Chicken wrestling is a craft. To put this into perspective; cock fighting is popular around the world, because they can do some serious damage when they want too. Now, take one rooster out of that fight and put your arms in it's place and GET ON WITH YOUR BAD SELF!
Twenty four chickens, two hours and several scratches later, I am done (in the heat).
It's the little projects that sound so simple that find a way of becoming so much more. What looked like an hour of work, turned into the whole day. Of course, I was taking water breaks every ten minutes and I had other "watering" things to do (flowers and gardens are pretty parched even with hours of watering a day... in the heat).
I learn something new, every day that I am here. You find out things about yourself and the life it is, without ever really noticing that you are getting that education. Taking the time to work on a strategy for gathering chickens in a 10x10 space was weird thinking, but useful. Building a another fucking coop was not exciting to me and, in the heat, was even less exciting, but I did it. I knew that the chickens needed a new space. Letting them roam free has cost the ponderosa some beautiful flowers and there is a minefield of chicken shit on everything you can see. Getting them in a new, larger, enclosed space was necessary and worth all that I had to endure... to make sure the flowers looked good. EVERYTHING at this house, gets a fair shot at life. EVERYTHING here gets an equal amount of attention and care. EVERYTHING here should be free from torment from the other denizens that live here. It is my job to guarantee that that is possible.
I can't wait to kill those fucking chickens.
posted by Daniel Loomis | 9:40 AM
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