Last week, knowing of my efforts at animal husbandry, two friends gave me four packages of shrimp shells, the residue of what, I am sure, must have been several scrumptious feasts in their abode.
I collected the parcels and rushed home, expecting Gladys to be overjoyed, but to my great surprise, when I presented the fowl with our friends’ largess, Gladys stood back, thereby allowing the chickens to chomp away at the shells, which I have found to be the finest source of calcium for poultry.
Quite frankly, I was alarmed. Gladys always greedily dines first, leaving whatever surviving remnants she misses for the hens. This time the hens immediately began gorging themselves with the newfound bounty. I never saw such happy chickens as I witnessed that day. Gladys let them become satiated, and then she moved in for the leftovers. This behavior was most unusual for Gladys, causing me to become concerned about her overall health and mental acuity.
In addition, to-date she has laid no eggs this season, whereas normally she begins laying by mid-February and continues into April. Her ritualistic habit has been as steady as clockwork over the 15 years she has lived here. She appears to be in excellent health, but she clearly is behaving strangely.
I have thought that perhaps she is taking early retirement, although we have offered her no buy-out package. Should she opt to retire, she knows that she will continue to live in luxury, never seeing the roasting pan. As I have noted previously, my Good Wife is concerned about how Gladys will fare in our estate planning. In short, to whom should we leave her? I am mindful that the longest-lived goose on record died at 102.
In addition, at 25 years old, retirement would not be that “early” for Gladys. To borrow the expression used by the British royal family to describe superannuated members who have ceased to perform public functions, she will continue to live in “grace and favor,” as do all members of our menagerie of retired fowl.
Led by Gladys, each of our fowl prefers to eat off the ground, rather than from the nice serving pieces from which we thought they would enjoy dining. Actually, the dishes formerly were dog food bowls, which may explain the fowls’ antipathy towards using them. They only move to their ceramic bowls after they have cleaned up whatever has fallen on the ground during the serving process.
Gladys’ attitude has injected a new level of self-confidence in the hens. They now realize that they are no longer in the mold of beggars, but rather they can eat when served their meals. Their situation has been reminiscent of that of the buzzards who swoop down when they see carrion in the field, only to have to back off when a bald eagle descends to take charge of the scene. The buzzards get only what the eagle leaves in its wake, exactly the fate our chickens routinely experienced over the years with Gladys.
I readily admit that I am missing Gladys’ eggs this season. My Good Wife prepares a superb goose-egg frittata and a delectable goose-egg cheesecake. Each year I look forward to them as harbingers of the arrival of spring after the long winter months, but alas, this year we have had neither. Her frittata has an aura about it that cannot be replicated by one made with chicken eggs and her cheesecake exhibits a consistency that is spectacularly gallinaceous.
Gladys and her consort, Henry, continue to go about, apparently without any specific worries. Henry is a happy individual, although he would abandon the barnyard in a flash if offered the opportunity to move inside. For the purposes of our own domestic tranquility that fate never shall be forthcoming. The threshold at the rear door of our home is truly a line drawn in the sand, across which the fowl will not be allowed to pass, which pleases many human members of our household.
