Pecking Order

A homestead is a hotbed of complexity. Take, for example, the photo above.

What you’re seeing is a visual demonstration of social interactions which makes the Balkans seem simple. It all starts with a breakfast burrito. It was awesome. There was a bit left over and I decided to “share the wealth”.

The instant I opened the door, Fluffy noticed. Fluffy is constantly scanning the horizon for threats and opportunities. The burrito was an opportunity. Fluffy followed me like a shark on a scent until I set it down. Then… nothing. I stepped back. Fluffy eyed me, calculated distances, and waited. The brain damaged cat rubbed against my leg. The duck was in the pig pen quacking angrily at a cinder block.

I stepped back another two feet. Fluffy made her move. She swooped in, inhaled half the burrito and then backed off ten feet as if the two of us might end up in a knife fight and if so she was going to win. I thought, “where are the other chickens”? As if to answer, Fluffy let out a squawk and her compatriot, second in command in the resistance movement, came running. It chowed down while Fluffy observed everything, me included.

Then the duck showed up. It shoved the chicken out of the way and quacked angrily at me. As if to say it would like a nice chianti and wanted to know why the hell hadn’t I provided it?

This was enough to wake the cat’s two remaining brain cells. It made it’s crooked, off kilter, asymmetric, way toward the burrito. Without breaking stride it swatted the duck away. Everyone moved down the line.

The flock of layer chickens, who spend the night in the barn and act like regular livestock, missed the whole thing.

I grabbed my camera. This was a soap opera and I wanted to capture it. Fluffy spied the camera and mooned the entirety of the internet, because that’s how a freedom chicken rolls.

And now you know what people watched before there was TV.