In my childhood, my favorite breakfast food was Cream of Rice cereal. In those pre-historic days before the advent of the microwave, my parents prepared it on the top of the stove, using an ancient pot, which they stirred continually. Today my Good Wife prepares it in the microwave and I can detect no difference in the taste.
This past Sunday morning, as she was taking the box of cereal out of the pantry, she dropped it and a sizable amount of the rice granules fell out on the kitchen floor. After sweeping it up, she intended to discard the fallen morsels in the trash, that is until I proposed giving it to our barnyard fowl. I then proceeded to take the dustpan filled with Cream of Rice to the coop.
When I deposited the contents into the red wagon which I use to feed the fowl corn and other grains, the chickens went berserk trying to get it all for themselves, denying Gladys, Henry and the ducks the chance to get even a small taste. Normally, true to her personality, Gladys pushes them away from food until she has been satiated. Not this time. The chickens would not budge, gulping the cereal down with alacrity.
The hens made clear that they far preferred Cream of Rice to their normal diet of various foods. I am concerned that they are going to expect it for every meal and although I try to be as generous as possible with all the fowl, financially, I could not begin to afford the largess inherent in moving to an all Cream of Rice diet for the barnyard residents, despite my affection for them. In addition, such a dietary transition would not be met with the approbation of the G.W.
When the hens had finished, in very short order, leaving the corn virtually untouched, Gladys approached once again, obviously hoping that something would have remained for her, but such was not to be the case. She was very curious as to what this new menu item had been, but no evidence remained for her to check it out. I actually was taken aback by her conduct, so lacking in her usual aggressivity towards the other fowl when food is the subject at hand.
Henry was even more complacent. The message I got from him was, “So what? I am happy enough with my own measure of vittles.” But then again, his nature is to be agreeable. I think if he had realized that Cream of Rice was a food that we humans ate inside our house, he would have been much more anxious and involved. As I have mentioned in other columns, he does not understand why he cannot come and go in and out of the house the way our Welsh corgi, Maggie, does.
For their part, the ducks were too late on the scene arriving at the food wagon, initially having been chased away by the chickens, and kept at bay until the last granule of rice had been consumed. With their round beaks, they would have been no match for the chickens’ sharp beaks had they challenged the hens’ predominance. The web-footed fowl usually lord themselves over the chickens, but the reversal of roles in this instance was amusing.
One of the chickens has moved on to retirement, her egg-laying days having come to an end. She has retired with full benefits lasting for the rest of her life. She continues to enjoy living, and never will see the stew pot. She laid eggs for over five years, and now fully merits setting up residence on Easy Street, but dining on Cream of Rice is not part of her retirement package. I must draw the line somewhere.
