Sherlock Holmes had his pipe. Dorothy had her red shoes. Batman had his Batmobile. If we asked your friends what object they most immediately associate with you, what would they answer?
I think without a doubt it would have to be my four footed, fur covered or feathered friends that since we were fortunate enough to purchase a spacious three acres, have resided here with us for the past thirty years.
Spending my first formative years on a farm instilled in me a love for these creatures, and to be able to have their company in my retirement years is a blessing I do not take for granted. Our remaining three sheep, Eany, Meany and Slips live in the back block, not humanised but without fear of people, and when the mood strikes, they will approach for a pat.
Twenty or so geese that to me represent land swans, who for such a cumbersome bird portray a persona of serenity along with a gracefulness that is surprising, they happily share their life with a dozen busy ducks who are forever criss-crossing the area in a single line formation typical of their species. All these birds are outnumbered by thirty or forty chooks (Chickens to those of you from across the pond) known collectively as My girls, sad to say even the roosters come under the my girls umbrella, but such is life on the hobby farm.
Add to this mix Kora and Gracie, our two dogs and the fluffy Queen of the home, who if she wants to, sometimes answers to the noble name of Butterfly. Being referred to as the Chook Lady is a badge I feel proud to wear; these pets are the inspiration for so many of my stories and poems, such as this one I’ll share with you.
Bob was king that was the thing,
and he knew he was safe from harm,
ruling the roost all the girls he seduced
as he exuded a natural charm.
Singing his song a pitch loud and strong
loving the sound of his own voice,
pampered and spoiled all-day long he toiled
practising the tune of his choice.
The neighbours annoyed at the peace he destroyed
all said enough was enough,
so poor Bob was to go to some place he could grow
used to doing it rough.
In the dark of the night which didn’t seem right,
he was trans-ported post-haste,
awaking at dawn at the place he’d been born
got him feeling rather debased.
Completely astounded at those that surrounded
not a ruddy blue blood in sight,
being totally ignored struck a note of discord
as he fought the urge to take flight.
Took a day or two for it to break through
his demeanour he needed to change,
if he wanted to win he’d just have to fit in
on this new and wide open range.
He so regal and poised was stunned at the noise
vibrating from this motley lot,
ostracised and alone he made up his mind to atone
to stave off losing the plot.
Once pretension was dropped all dissension stopped
they accepted him into the flock,
he now has it made as the hens have displayed,
after all he’s a handsome young cock.