I write this column in my backyard on a relatively cool August
day. Our dog and two cats have followed me outside to bask in the
sun and my presence. It may be my imagination that they are fond of
me, but it is a fact that they follow me about.
I write this column in my backyard on a relatively cool August day. Our dog and two cats have followed me outside to bask in the sun and my presence. It may be my imagination that they are fond of me, but it is a fact that they follow me about.
Other animals inhabit my backyard, or migrate through, without displays of affection. A hummingbird zigs from loquat to jasmine. A mockingbird chirps. Butterflies flutter, all seemingly southward. Flies and wasps buzz. Aphids festoon the milkweed, lovingly tended by ants.
Snails and slugs slither beneath the squash and tomato vines. Salamanders hibernate this time of year, but can be found every March: the slender salamanders under leaf litter, the tiger salamanders under the concrete rainwater diverters.
One animal unrepresented in my backyard is the chicken, Gallus gallus.
Chickens are on my mind because of The Dispatch story of Aug. 23. It seems that Mahmoud Ascarie, a San Jose property developer, bought an egg farm on Canada Road in the west Gilroy foothills two years ago. Ascarie was distraught to find 140,000 chickens living in miserable conditions. Apparently he had lived all his life in blissful ignorance of the squalid realities of animal husbandry.
He immediately joined People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, and, last week, arranged for 2,000 hens to be rescued by various animal rights groups. The remaining surviving chickens, presumably 138,000 of them, were sent to the kill barns. Ascarie plans to operate a free range egg ranch, and expects to lose money on it, which is, I believe, a realistic expectation.
Some of Ascarie’s less realistic utterances follow:
“I believe we invade the lives of the animals, and that’s not fair.” (Our family’s pets might equally well be accused of invasion Ëœ they all showed up and begged to be fed without formal invitations. Wasps, flies, mosquitoes, fleas, ticks, slugs, and snails also invade our property. Whining that it is not fair will change nothing.)
“I believe that animals have the right to enjoy their lives.” (How about flies and cockroaches? Bacteria? Human fetuses? Or fertile chicken eggs? Do mountain lions have a “right” to eat deer? Does that not infringe on the deer’s “right” to enjoy life?)
“I don’t like the justification (for killing chickens) that chickens have no brains.” (Oh, come now. Whoever claimed that a chicken has no brain?)
Another doozy of a statement was contributed by animal advocate Liz Sturla, who thinks that chickens are perceived as having less “moral worth” than parakeets and canaries. “Our view of them should not impact how they are treated'” she says.
I hate to disillusion Ms. Sturla, but I think it entirely justifiable to treat different animals differently based on my perception of them. I pet my cats and feed them because I view them as likely to purr and eradicate mice. I neither pet nor feed the bobcats in the creekbed near Miller and Santa Theresa, because I wish to retain all my fingers.
I eat chickens and cows and pigs and turkeys and lambs because they taste good and are commercially available. I do not eat dogs, because I am sentimental about them. Merely a perception, to be sure.
In sum, I find the views of Mr. Ascarie and Ms. Sturla to be extremely unrealistic with regard to the relative importance of animals.
On the other hand, my friend Carol and her son John have an extremely realistic view of chickens. They own five chickens, which live in their backyard in a large and beautiful aviary – it is much too elegant a structure to be called a chicken coop.
The chickens all have names. John gathers and sells their eggs, which are delicious. The chickens are affectionate and docile. They all enjoy being held and stroked, and will climb to John’s or Carol’s heads for safety when alarmed.
They have certain personality quirks: one is broody; another, adventurous. They are allowed the run of the backyard for a few hours every evening, which time they employ in devouring slugs and snails.
The chickens have a realistic view of the relative importance of animals.
Cynthia Anne Walker is a homeschooling mother of three and former engineer. She is a published independent author. Her column is published in The Dispatch every week.
