With a brand new logo to spice up all our lives (created by the wonderful @heytherefarmgirl – my sister, Izzi) and latterly, with a host of new Chicken Corner fans, I thought why not push the boat out, go crazy even, and tell another tale from the orchard.. After all, double-bank holiday May deserves a double-dose of Chicken Corner antics surely?
Met with critical acclaim, some pretty cathartic stuff occurred this week, so anticipate Shakespearean-come-Sophocles standards of revelation (only without the old-English and Ancient-Greek theatrical masks). “Hold on a minute! Not so fast!”, some obnoxious critic shouts out in the hope that their virtual screen will dissipate and suddenly find themselves (sitting awkwardly on their dedicated ‘work’ chair) in the middle of the orchard with chickens wandering around, so that they can finally get their “valuable” point cross. (AND BREATHE!) *Now insert a less than strong pun making reference to COVID-19 and our - now essential - use of masks* Not to worry if I lost you halfway through there, but as a round-up, masks may well be included in this cathartic tale.. but no old-English thankfully!
For those who have just joined and equally for those who have (unforgivably) forgotten the tragedy back in October 2019 – i.e. the missing case of Caesar (Buff Orpington Cockerel) I have done the hardwork for you and sourced the relevant excerpt from Feature Post “A Nostalgic Summer’ -
“.. one afternoon it came to feeding time and Caesar didn’t show. Stinking with denial, I searched all over the farm, hoping I would find him, alas without success..”
Those with the capacity for empathy and a progressive ability to read-between-the-lines, will understand the painful lack of closure and sense of finality connected with an unsolved case such as this. I speak on behalf of my team, (basically me as director and manager), when I say I’ve never felt I could properly move on.. well, that is, until now.
To continue painting the vividly vibrant picture in your minds, lets hark back to the day little Ruby (featured in last week’s post) was first brought in for feeding. Izzi, GJH and myself, all stood around the cattle enclosure gazing at Annag and Ruby, when I heard a violent trickling to my left. The water trough was overflowing, so I ran into the barn to turn off the hosepipe. A sudden scuttling came from under the right-hand cattle feed storage container, then stopped. I caught (unusually long, I might add) eye contact with the cause of this sound - a rat - and began to subconsciously project my inner insecurities onto it.
To cut a long story short, I was face to face with the culprit that knew the exact location of an Araucana hen's nest and as punishment for my ignorance in not knowing this location, each and everyday the rat discarded an empty green shell in the middle of the barn! Call it frustration, call it anger, call it despair – all emotions I associate with this (most-probably) absent-minded creature.
I’d moved physically closer to the rat which had shuffled out of sight into the hay bales, when I noticed something rather intriguing. What came into focus was a bundle of orangey feathers wedged in the gap of a collection of hay bales, three levels up (just below my eye line). Slightly unnerved yet extremely curious, I thought of the unsolved mystery immediately. Could it be Caesar?
I ran back to Izzi and GJH shouting the news and they reciprocated with excitably screams (mainly from Izzi) of “ohh, really?”. We went back into the barn and I began to unstack the hay bales. Removing the final bale, it revealed a mummified corpse of Caesar (not in exact Roman burial style, if only he’d been called Marc Anthony, it would have all had much more sense).
The preservation was outstanding, and upon archaeological examination (chicks, don’t worry, I’m a trained professional![First Class Honours Archaeology & Art History, University of Nottingham, 2018]) of the position of the body – I deduced that it had simply been the unfortunate case of getting stuck. Caesar had got himself into this little tunnel but sadly couldn’t and would prove to have never wriggled himself out. His legs were completely tucked under his body and whole head intact, suggesting there had been no savage hit and run, nor murder and dump, whatever you might call it..
No, Caesar’s fate perfectly encapsulated Shakespeare’s King’s Lear - ‘As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, they kill us for their sport’ .. (Ok, I couldn’t help myself, just a little Shakespearean rhetoric to enhance the minds of our Chicken Corner readership). Additionally, like all great Shakespearean tragic heroes, they must have a tragic flaw. Caesar’s was being a bird – where upon once plunged into darkness, and unlike humans whose imaginations continue to run wild, birds’ minds simply go blank, thus rendering him immobile. But on the other hand, CBBC’s Horrible Histories’ ‘Stupid Deaths’ scenes come to mind as well…
If that’s not the new Oxford Dictionary definition of Catharsis, then blow me down! Seriously you couldn’t write this stuff, its all too real at Chicken Corner. Now may you all go in peace in the clear knowledge that “Caesar [..] had joined his imperial ancestors amongst the gods”.
Goodbye Chicks, until next time! x
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