Free Range

I like being a chicken. Sure, it’s all I’ve ever known, but I still like it. Maybe I would’ve liked something else more, but I’ll never get to be something else so it doesn’t really matter does it. One of the best things about being a chicken is that I can range around freely. Yup, I’m what you call a free range chicken. I do feel sorry for those barn chickens. They don’t get to range, let alone freely.

There are so many joys in ranging, I strut around sometimes while other times I peck around with my head down. My life is just so varied, it’s like every day is an adventure. You know, a couple of weeks ago I was pecking around near the house. I’d slipped through the hole in the fence, we know exactly where the hole is. We get rounded up every now and then and sent back to our paddock. When that happens we’ll lay low for a little while, pretend we’re stupid. But eventually the call of the open spaces gets the better of us. This was one of those days.

I’d been out for a while and had ranged around un-noticed for most of the day. My curious nature – most chickens have a curious nature – lead me over towards the house. I was on my own at that stage, a few of the others had gone to squawk at the pigs, always a great laugh. But I had wandered off alone and was near the house. I came around the corner and what did I find there? It was a whole piece of toast, no kidding. It was a little bit dark, much darker than the crusts we usually get but all in one piece. Can you imagine, a whole piece of toast? I managed to get through the whole thing without any other chicken or the people in the house seeing me. Man I love being a chicken. 

Eviction

They seemed pretty nice. I never actually spoke with any of them though. I wouldn’t have avoided speaking with them of course. It just never came up. Once a friend of a friend invited us to a party, judging by the address we thought it was at their house. It wasn’t unfortunately, but I’m sure their party’s were also fun. They seemed like our kind of people, or maybe the kind of people we wished we still were. A little bit younger, and on reflection probably a bit more free spirited than we ever were.

But my point is that they seemed nice, and I thought it was pretty off when I read the note that had been left in our letterbox. The note wasn’t from them but they were certainly the subject of the note, that was clear before I’d even looked at the street number that the note referred to. Apparently the management of their house had changed, these new people wanted to take the opportunity to drop their business card in the letterbox of all the neighbours. Oh, and by the way, if anyone had any complaints about the tenants in the big house on the corner, just let them know.

I thought the note was pretty harsh. I mean, well sure the chimney did get knocked off the top of the house. But I saw that happen out the window one afternoon, and it was definitely an accident. On top of that I’m sure there were some noise complaints but that kind of thing doesn’t hold much water with me. They certainly weren’t any louder than we were. And if our neighbours can deal with drum and bass at two AM, well then those same neighbours can put up with the noise from the big house on the corner as well.

The fire wasn’t, I don’t think, a very big deal either. From the safety of two doors down it seemed under control. Well enough control anyway. I suppose the landlord will have to rebuild that section of the veranda, but the place looks like it could do with a few repairs here and there anyway. Altogether it was really just an unfortunate run of unconnected events. I felt sorry for them on that morning that it all came to a head.

It was quite a cold morning, still and clear with almost the feeling of frost. It was unusually quiet on the street, fewer cars than normal, not a lot of activity on that winter’s morning. So the whop whop whop of the helicopter blades was a bit of a shock to us really. As we were getting out of bed to see what had happened we heard the first sirens. And by the time we got to the window and opened the curtains there must have been half a dozen police cars and vans stopped at the corner.

Most of the police were in riot gear. I initially thought one of them had some kind of rocket launcher but it turned out that it shot tear gas into the front window of the house on the corner. A loud hailer shouted instructions and several police dogs barked away. I was thinking that it was hands down the most excessive eviction I’d ever even hear of, let alone seen. It all just seemed over the top. But then the gunfire started. It wasn’t the police who were shooting, it was coming from inside the house.

These guys really didn’t want to move out. The skirmish grew into a battle, and before long it was fully-fledged war. There were grenades now, and more police than earlier. Some of them were in charge of keeping us off the streets. By this time the whole street had left their front doors ajar and wandered out to watch the eviction go down.

Hustled back into our house we could still see most of the action. A truck filled with what looked like soldiers was unloading itself from a short distance up the road. There was shouting, although the loud hailers had long since been abandoned. I’d seen several police officers shot, but most of the gunfire that kept ringing out through the neighbourhood seemed to be coming from outside the house rather than in. The danger to onlookers looked like it was mostly coming from the police. The shots from inside had a different sound. They were a little bit muffled and maybe a deeper sounding bang. Those shots were sparing, but when we heard them we usually saw a policeman keel over. Outnumbered, the people in the big house on the corner were certainly still in charge of the situation.

When the tank showed up I was a little bit concerned for them. It was probably a bit more than they could handle. I’d seen tanks before, at museums and that sort of thing. But when you see a fully functional one, in real life, and twitching for actions. Well it’s a little bit more real, especially when its barrel is pointed at the house two doors down from you.

As it turned out the tank didn’t see any action that day. It must have been slightly disappointed because when it turned up it had a strut about itself, a look like a boxer approaching the ring, but later on when everything was finished it almost limped off. Insomuch as a fully functional tank can limp.

It sulked off because it wasn’t needed. Before it got a chance to shine things came to a head. The sky split like a large piece of pine hit by an axe, a plane screeched towards us from somewhere in the south. This was the first time in the whole morning that I’d actually been scared for us, I had been a little bit scared for the people in the big house on the corner, and was definitely concerned for the police. But now the danger was coming our way.

I honestly don’t know how something travelling so fast can drop a bomb with so much accuracy. Oh, I know that they’re laser guided and all that sort of thing. But it’s just not real is it, it’s just TV science as far as your brain can process it at nine in the morning when a jet is dropping a bomb scarily close to your house.

It didn’t hit us. Obviously. In fact, despite all of my doubt it was a very accurate bomb. There wasn’t any question of survivors, the place was flattened. The soldiers still threw a few grenades in to be sure, and more than one or two rounds were spent in the interest of being certain, although it all seemed half hearted after the battle that had been echoing across Grey Lynn earlier. Now it was just the smell of smoke and the distant sound of ambulances racing to help the injured policemen. I guess now the landlords will need to do more than fix up that burned piece of veranda.

Daring

He was a brave guy, strong and confident. I don’t think I ever saw him show any fear. Looking back now, that was probably his downfall. He got too comfortable really. I don’t know exactly what he thought at the time, he wasn’t one to share his emotions freely. But if I had to guess, I’d say that he was thinking that he’d be fine. He knew that the chilli would be hot, but I don’t think he thought it would be too hot for him, he thought he could handle it.

It’s a pretty tough way to go, when you think about it. I was talking to the doctor afterwards, after it was clear what had happened. I don’t know why I felt I needed to speak to the poor doc, it must have been my way of reacting to the shock. But I asked him about the detail, and he told me that in these cases, generally speaking, the tongue swells and the ears burn and the entire brain actually explodes. It sounded to me like a horrible way to go, and I said as much to the doctor. But he told me no, for the patient it’s just a numbness, the heat rises up in his chest and throat and to him it feels like he’s slowly drifting off to sleep.

I don’t really know how the doctor thinks he could know that. But it’s what I’m choosing to believe. I like to imagine that my fried went quietly and comfortable, despite the terrible circumstances. The only thing that’s left for me now is to spread the word. Sure they’re tasty, but please ladies and gentleman, think carefully about how much chilli you’re adding to your meal. It may seem like fun at the time but it’s a very serious game you’re playing. 

Hunter

So I was wandering around on the hillside with my rifle. What? Yes a gun, of course, but more specifically a rifle. Yes it does matter, it’s a necessary level of detail for the story, which would become obvious if you would shut up and let me tell it. So I was on the hillside with my rifle. I was looking for deer, a specific deer actually. I’d see him up there before about a week earlier but at the time I was shooting pheasants so I had my shotgun. And anyway, I wasn’t nearly close enough to him.

This time I was coming prepared, I had my rifle and a pack. I was in for the long haul, it might take a while to stalk him and get close enough to get a good shot in, and even then I could still miss. The day was going to be long, whether I saw him again or not. Even if I didn’t bag him today I hoped that I’d at least see him again. Now I know that people use words like majestic and beautiful when they talk about seeing a stag in the wild, and to be honest with you I think it’s bollocks most of the time. But this animal is certainly impressive, I wont overstate it any more than that.

As luck would have it I would bump into my old friend the stag again. But luck, well it was bad luck for me. There was a track that ran along the hill, coming around a slight bend. I walk slowly around the bend because I knew that I’d get a good view of the prow of the next hill, the hill where I’d first seen him. They’re territorial, deer. While I didn’t expect him to be standing right there, I felt like once I got to this point it would be the beginning of the stalk. So I was feeling a sense of anticipation as rounded the bend. I didn’t for the life of me expect what happened though.

My eyes shot straight up towards the hilltop and I can tell you that they immediately widened. There he was, right where I’d seen him the last time. But I wasn’t excited. Shocked more likely. The stag was standing on his hind legs, upright like a man. With a rifle balanced on his shoulder and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I hardly had a chance to take in the strangeness of the whole situation before I heard the gunshot ring out. Well, I can tell you that I did not turn around for another look. I ran, and as I was running I could hear shouting behind me “I know what you came up here for”. At first I thought there must be someone else here, but… “think you’re gonna shoot me do you? Ha, reckon I’ll shoot you first”.

I ran and I ran. I didn’t once stop or look back, just kept going until I got to my truck, and when I got there I jumped in and drove off as fast as I could. There’s something about seeing something completely unbelievable that just scares you half to death. I’m sure you don’t believe me now, but I know what I saw. There’s no doubt in my mind at all and I don’t really care what you think at the end of the day. But there’s just one thing I can’t quite figure out. How’d he pull the trigger? No deer I’ve ever seen has fingers. 

Donkey

Sometimes it’s tough being a donkey. I’m used to it though, even when it’s raining and cold, and I’m all wet and soaked I can usually see the bright side of things. But getting hit by lightening? That’s probably just one step too far for me. I can’t quite turn the other cheek to that. It has made me start to think that maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe I’m not lucky after all, maybe the gods do have it in for me.

I always thought I was fortunate to be living on the side of this hill. It’s an old volcano apparently. You know, we donkeys aren’t as stupid as we’re always made out to be. I’ve overheard the humans talking, I know what a volcano is. And yes of course I can understand English. Just because I don’t have the fine motor skills in my jaw and mouth and tongue, it doesn’t mean my ears aren’t working. So I’m aware that I’m on the side of a volcano, and I wonder if maybe there’s something of an omen in the whole lightening and volcano thing. Plus there’s the fact that I live on a graveyard, humans seem to hold a lot of superstition around graveyards.

So I always thought I was lucky, there’s plenty of grass here and I’m expected to keep it short, easy enough for someone of my donkeyness. And I get scraps from the priest in the church next to the graveyard, that’s always a treat. For most of the time, life is just quite rosy, if you take a simple perspective. But now I’m wondering, I’m starting to maybe think of this from a human point of view. Maybe I’m cursed.

It isn’t a big graveyard. I’m stuck behind a cast iron fence that keeps me within the same twenty-metre radius my whole life. The area all around my home and up the hillside further, it’s all houses and shops and other kinds of buildings that I can’t quite make out from my vantage point. I’m penned in by the fence, and the fence is penned in by all of the houses. I can’t run free, all I can do is plod the same patch of grass with no other animals around. Oh sure, there are pets in some of the houses, dogs and cats. But they’re all so stuck up, even the dogs wont come near me. I don’t know why they think they’re any different to me. They rely on the humans just as much as I do.

I do have a small tree near one corner of the graveyard. Back in my more optimistic days I used to count that as a blessing. In bad weather I’d scurry towards it for shelter, or at least the idea of shelter. I can see now that it doesn’t keep me any drier or hold off any of the wind. It’s too small to make any difference. The scraps used to make a difference to me on those cold days as well. Something to look forward to. But now that I’m taking a more human outlook on life I can see that the scraps aren’t a treat for me. The scraps are just what someone else didn’t want. I get second choice, and even then it isn’t an actual choice.

When the lightening struck I thought, “oh great, things couldn’t get any worse than this”. But now that I’ve been thinking about it things are pretty dire around here. In fact, I think I was a lot happier before I thought about how unlucky I am.