"When Elephants Weep"

That was the title of a book I read a few years ago...... the man who wrote it made a years-long comprehensive study of animals, coming to the conclusion that all animals have emotions, it's merely the short-coming of mankind for not being able to recognize and understand those emotions. The author's name is Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson, and the book was incredible. It was hard for me to read through it without getting caught up in the angst of it all. I gave it to one of our friends when I finished it... I knew she would be able to read it without letting her emotional self pour onto every page.

I thought of that book yesterday because of Gatsby, our mostly-outside cat, and Mammy, our very sensitive chicken. Gatsby stays outside all day long when the weather is nice, which it almost always is..... and when the nights are warm, he likes being outside as well. The other night, he sat by that back door till I opened it for him, and out he went. It was nearly midnight when I opened the door, and I told him if he was choosing to go out at that time, then he was also choosing to stay out for the night. All I got in response was a loud meow and a wide-eyed look up at the door. Fine. Out he went.

The next morning, Gatsby was nowhere to be found. I called him and the only response I got was a clucking-cackling from the chickens. No Gatsby. Fine. He's done that before.... when he can't get back into the house when he's ready, he gets an attitude, and won't come to the porch when I call him. I figured that when he got hungry enough, he'd come out from under the guest cottage, which is his usual hide-out place. And that's what happened.... his kitty-tummy made him appear just before lunch time. As he walked up to the porch, he was limping.... I told my husband that he looked like Walter Brennan.

I let Gatsby into the house and he walked (limped) right into the TV room and ate his lunch, then jumped onto his favorite chair and slept for the entire day. Didn't move an inch, except to stretch out his paws as he turned his head when the sun started to shine through the window, aiming its rays at his face. He is such a sensitive cat, and he lets you know when he's not happy in his little cat-world. This morning, Gatsby was outside for most of the day again (not limping, by the way). This evening before dinner, as I was getting the chickens into the coop and locking them inside, Gatsby was upset with me because I wasn't paying much attention to him. I tried to explain to him that with Scarlett in my right hand, and a bag of bread in my left hand, there was just no arm left for me to pick him up. All the way to the coop, there was Scarlett in my arms, looking down at Gatsby with those yellow eyes of hers.

Gatsby doesn't want to be bothered by details (such as only having two hands), and he doesn't want excuses. His whiskers were in a knot over all of the above and now he's hiding out under the cottage again. Fine. Be that way. Come out when you're good and ready.

And then we have the sensitive chicken--- Mammy. She was very unhappy when we got the two new hens. For the first night, she put her head into a corner and wouldn't look at them. The second night in the coop with the new girls, she took her head out of the corner but wouldn't stand near the new-comers. I thought she had snapped out of all of that by the third day, but then on the very next day, she started putting her head into the corner again, not looking at the two new hens, and not walking next to them or eating in the same spot where they were. Give me a blessed break.

But then....... that book. Certainly, if elephants can mourn a loss of another elephant, and the cows on the other side of these hills can literally cry as they search for their calves who have been taken to market, then surely a chicken can be upset over the introduction of new hens to the coop. To look at Mammy, you would think she's an old-lady hen, the way she's moping around and walking slowly to keep herself away from Daisy and PittyPat (the newest hens). Mammy is not even two years old, so she should be as spry and as active as all the other chickens. But her emotions are getting in the way. She's missing out on the good veggies and bread and seeds that are being eaten up by the other hens. I have tried bringing food over to the spot where Mammy chooses to watch the other hens as they feast, but Mammy just sits there and looks at me with the saddest of faces. If I didn't know any better, I would swear that she's saying We were all just fine as we were! Why did you bring those two hens to our coop?!

Cats who give you an attitude. Chickens who give you guilt. Another day on the ranch.