I remember Mark and I chatting - or rather yelling - with a neighbor in the street a few years ago. Through a mask, and over a row of shrubbery, and a garden wall, and from a regulated safe distance, the neighbor yelled that she thought the Pandemic could mean human extinction, and the end of the world. And Mark - pragmatic as ever - yelled back “Nah, it might be the end of human civilization, but the world would get on just fine.”
And we’d all laughed in recognition. We are idiots, humankind, with our vanity and our self-importance - declaring ourselves to be the center of the Universe, when all the while the Universe is too big to give a toss what we think.
I was so reminded of that this week, while I navigated officialdom, and health insurance, and all sorts of random important admin, that comes with just being a grown adult. By chance, I looked out the window to the backyard and gasped. Because at some point during my week of work and responsibilities, tick boxes and numbers, Nature had taken a small seedling I'd planted and grown it into a completely magnificent sunflower with a bloom the size of a human head.
I snorted at my own ridiculousness. Thanks Universe for reminding me that despite my posturing, I am still merely a small dot in an infinite cosmos.
Our wee dog Arthur has a bow tie on his collar. He likes it. A lot. He used to just wear a plain old collar, but since he tried his first bow tie, he’s never looked back. When he’s not wearing it, he looks embarrassed, naked in some way. But once he has his bow tie on, decorum has been restored and he's happy in his own skin.
Yet he’s not the only one around Tweddley Manor who wears a collar. Genghis, our rooster, wears one too. Genghis is not at all fond of his. Then again, roosters wear collars for a totally different reason. Whereas Arthur sports his as a form of belonging, Genghis has to wear one to stop the sound of crowing.
Roosters have two air sacs: one is to fill the air in their lungs. The other air sac is purely there to add volume to the crow. So with his collar on, Genghis can breathe and behave perfectly normally. He can even crow - just not loudly. It doesn't hurt him in any way - apart from maybe his self-esteem. But if there’s a choice between wearing a collar or ending up in a soup pot, the collar wins every time.
Anyway, roosters don’t have it easy. In some ways, a collar is the least of his issues. Chickens have personalities and there are plenty of politics within a flock of hens (I’m looking at you, Margo). The phrase ‘pecking order’ doesn’t come from nowhere.
And this year we added 5 new chickens to the mix, so now instead of just his regular 7 hens, he has 12.
Genghis has an almost military sense of order. As soon as the automatic doors to the coop open in the morning, he has the chickens out to graze. And then, he has them all back and in the roost before the timed automatic doors close at dusk. He’s fearsome when he needs to be, and vicious facing any sort of predator like a hawk or a cat. But he still has big feelings, and gets all forlorn if I don't take time out of my day to go hand-feed him some snacks. You know he’d actually suit a bow tie on his collar too, though I’m certain he’d not appreciate it.
This week Mark was working at the beehive and noticed Genghis standing a few feet away, evidently wanting attention. Mark looked over to witness Genghis shuffle in a celebratory manner, and the collar fall off. He eyed Mark victoriously before puffing up his feathery wee body and belting out a thundering Cock A Doodle Doo.
No doubt about it, the collar had to be replaced, but there are times to replace a collar on a rooster. When dressed in a bee suit dealing with 80,000 wee stingy creatures is not one of those times.
Also, getting a collar onto a dog is a whole different process to getting a collar on a rooster. A rooster is a two-person job. He jumps, and pecks, he leaps, chases, and thrusts his spurs. A rooster can do a lot of damage. Logistics decided we could wait another 24 hours.
That night we had people round for dinner. A civilized dinner in the dining room and everything. LA has not yet reached the incinerator o'clock temperatures of Summer, so we had the doors to the backyard open, to let the night air in.
Just after the main course, I sensed a shuffling in the backyard and looked out to see Genghis - standing on his own - looking a little embarrassed. Not wearing a collar or a bow tie, he could have crowed to let us know he was there. But he was all about manners, and apparently didn't want to interrupt the evening. When I spoke to him, he even managed to look sort of ashamed. There had to be something wrong.
On any other night, he would have been locked up in the coop with his ladies by now. The fact that he was on this side of the yard meant that he was locked out of the coup or looking for a lost chicken, or both. So dinner had to wait, while Mark and I went to find out.
It turned out to be both. The automatic door was locked and when we went to do a head count, one of the chickens was missing. Veronica. One of the new girls. Unsurprising really. That chicken has been trouble since she was an egg.
Genghis was sent into the coop exhausted, and the search began. But it's tricky to find a small black chicken in the dark, and in the end after recruiting our dinner guests on an extensive “Find Veronica” adventure, Mark and I decided that we had to let things be and deal with the outcome. Sometimes you just have to surrender to what is. Sometimes no amount of vigilance can change that.
It has been a rough week. I have a sore heart. I keep trying to find order in disorder and only mess myself up. I make things too complicated. I need to just accept what is. I'm at an age where friends pass and everybody is sad and nobody is really shocked, because it’s seen in some ways as inevitable. And because in the end, the Universe decides no matter how much we posture.
And I've been demoted. I don't even go to the oncologist’s office anymore. Instead, they draw blood three times a year and they phone me to keep me updated. It’s the best possible outcome. I used to dream of being in this situation. And now I am.
Looking out at a giant sunflower, the size of a human head, I take the call.
“It's wonderful news,” she says. “The cancer markers are perfect. I don't know what you're doing but keep doing it.”
I laugh.
“I’m lucky,” I say.
“You are. You really are.” she beams, “I’m so happy for you. It’s a gift for everybody giving this kind of news. Have a wonderful weekend. Go celebrate.”
“I will,” I promise.
And I put the phone down. And I sob. And I hate myself because the way I feel is the wrong way to feel. I should feel joy, but I only feel shame. Like I cheated somehow. And I know I won’t go out and celebrate. Because who enjoys the win when they know someone they’ve loved has to lose. And besides, there are people coming for dinner.
The morning after Genghis indignity, he got revenge. And I mean revenge. Collarless, he was free to crow till his heart's content, and he did pretty incessantly from 4.30 in the morning onwards.
At 5.15 I went outside hoping to reason with him. Veronica was waiting shamefaced at the door of the coop. I may have muttered, “Dirty stop out,” as I opened the gate to let her in. She was welcomed back to the flock with a combination of early morning apathy and simmering resentment (I'm looking at you, Margo).
And later that day amidst a flurry of feathers pecking, jumping, and posturing, Lachlan and Mark helped Genghis into his new collar. He accepted it. Some things just are.
Guilt is like the collar on a rooster. Unwanted but so much better than the alternative. And I'll wear it. As a constant reminder to not fucking crow.
Till next week
xo
Collared - Audio
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Notes from the Valley - Book 1
Available on Amazon: (US, UK, AUS, CA).
The Audiobook version is also available on Apple Books and Audible.
Learn more about Lynn’s Story work at YouTellYours.com
If it’s ok with you I’ll crow a little for you. Your good news gave me tears. And how nice to see two of my favorite males. Xoxo