Prim, Marigold and Tikka are our three Brown Shaver chickens. Some of our most rewarding animals, these girls have each given us an egg a day for the last 6 months. They haven’t had their first moult yet, this could be because of our New Zealand weather giving us 2 seasons a year rather than 4. So the question is, now that they are a year old are they still pullets or hens? They were 28 weeks old when we got them and had just started to lay.
Following our naming process Prim’s name is taken from the Hunger Games. Prim has a bottom the colour of primrose flowers which makes for easy identification. This practical aspect led to inspiration for the other names. Marigold’s bottom is more orange and Tikka’s bottom is the darkest, reddest of the three.
Poor Percy is a little pink on her ears from the fierce sun we saw in Auckland on Sunday afternoon and today she got the shivers when she came outside in the bitter wind and rain. No hair to keep her warm and too little and skinny to have the required insulation. I may have to fashion her a jacket and a sun hat. At least she faired better here than she would have in other parts of New Zealand. If she'd been in Christchurch she might have had to learn to swim.
Percy has arrived and while Percy might be considered a somewhat predictable name for a pig it has been carefully considered. Percy is named after Percy Jackson. My 13 year old daughter Natalya is in charge of all naming protocols on our property and her process is simple. Generally animals are named after her favorite fictional character when they arrive.
It became clear to us that a process was necessary after our first venture into animal husbandry nearly 11 years ago. When we moved into our property there were three cows already in residence. They belonged to the previous owner, Tom. Given all of the changes a foot when we moved from our suburban 700 square meter plot he offered to continue to tend the “herd” while we settled in. He lived just 3 doors down on the opposite side of the road so the arrangement was a blessing for us. The land was essentially bare apart from a very small, very old wooden cottage in one corner, a car port and a big old garage with huge old freezer work doors that gave it an ominous appearance from the road. Quite how any of the buildings were still standing is testament to the virtues of lead laced paint from the 1960s. The carport was held together by the world’s largest, most productive passion fruit vine that kept the entire neighborhood supplied with delicious delicacies. It was legendary, until we killed it through neglect that was, we clearly had a lot to learn.
Natalya loved the cows with their huge brown eyes, dribbles and gurgles as they drank from their trough. When Tom wondered up the road to fill the water troughs Natalya would run to the window to greet him, knowing the cows would also come to see him. One morning we asked him if the cows had names. He looked Natalya in the eye, smiled and raised his arm, steering her gaze around the paddock, he identified the cows, One, Two and Three. Natalya was delighted, she could say one, two and three amongst a handful of other words and she repeated the names after him. It was the perfect plan.
As time went on Tom would come less often to check on the cows, having seen that we were capable of the responsibility, even if we had killed the passion fruit vine much to the disgust of the neighbours. Cows have always been such great animals to have on the property, so easy to care for, gentle and calm. Although, as I write these words I’m registering that most of the cows we’ve had have given us stories worthy of telling. After several months the time came for the cows to leave our paddocks, arrangements were made and we, with the guidance of Tom herded them down the road to his paddocks. As we counted them out of the gate, one, two and three Natalya looked up at us with a look of disbelief and despair. The first through the gate was apparently Three, followed by One, with Two at the rear. This was not a topic for discussion and Tom’s smile and nod offered all the arbitration needed. There was no doubt, we had been unfocused and inattentive. So, Natalya is in charge of names around these parts.
The fear in my heart is rising. I have been in a state of, let’s call it confusion, since Wednesday. We finally called “the pig man”, which had been on our list of things to do for a fortnight. Things went surprising well, I think, and you see, here in lies the turmoil. Jump back two weeks and picture a quiet evening. My better half, Colin, was sitting on the couch watching TV with one eye and browsing Trademe on the Ipad with the other.
“I’ve sent a message to a man about a pig,” He declared.
That was the beginning and the end of the conversation. We post many questions to Trademe at strange times in the evening as one brain fart invariably leads to another and dreams of a sustainable life in the country play with our minds. Anyway, back to Ross, the pig man, as he was previously referred to. Two days later Ross calls, he seems a good sort, not a man to mix his words or beat around the bush to pretty things up. He wants to talk to Colin, about a pig. No, I probably can’t help he tells me but I can get Colin to call him when he gets home.
As brief and concise as Ross is, I myself, can occasionally, I freely admit be somewhat more easily distracted, romantic, and well, airy fairy. Excited and scared at the prospect of a new addition to the family. It takes me a week to get Colin to call Ross. He, and I are expecting Ross to explain that the reason he no longer has a pig advertised on Trademe, is that he no longer has a pig to sell. A fair assumption you’d think. Surprisingly the conversation between Colin and Ross goes something more like this:
“Hi Ross, Colin here, I sent you a note about a pig a few weeks ago.”
“Oh yes, I remember, you’re not far away.”
“No, that’s right, I’m just wondering if you still have any pigs.”
“Just the one.”
“When will it be ready?”
“26th, Saturday.”
“OK, well, I’d like to take him if he’s not spoken for but I can wait for him if he’s not quite ready.”
“Oh, no, he’s yours, I’ve already lost one, don’t want to lose another, Saturday it is, don’t be too early though.”
“OK, I’ll call before I come over.”
“Lovely 9.30 then.”
So, forward a couple of days and we’re at Thursday, tomorrow is Anzac Day and we’ll be up early making preparations for Percy or Percilina, depending, not sure which, still a bit dazed. A little bit scared as hell of the hard questions too. What did Ross mean by “lost one”? How big is this pig? How much will it eat? Will we get the pen done in time? Will the food supply that we’ve arranged actually eventuate? Please, wish us luck. Can’t wait to meet our new friend. I hope it settles in well.
In Flanders Field In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.