Being Present
Writing. Writing.
I get in a good two hours before morning chores, before it becomes stinking hot again.
As I walk down the track to turn on the water pump, my feet are frying, and it’s only ten o’clock. In the pindan there are other feet, and interrupted drag lines. That bloody goanna is poking around again. I know what he’s come for. He’s heard the chirping of the new baby chickens. Bastard. He has already chomped up a good number of eggs. I will keep my eye on him.
Back to writing.
hoOOOOOONK! araAAAAAW! araAAAAW!
I quickly fetch my iphone and run out to record the pea hen’s call. It sounds like a clown horn. I will use it as my new ring tone.
The peacock is paying no attention to her. He is busy spreading his brilliant tail feathers for a cage full of chickens. He gives a full frontal, then sashays up and down to ensure no one misses out.
‘Oh! Look at me! I’m exceptional! Wait a moment, keep watching…. I’ll spin around a bit, and…. voila!’
Back to writing.
There is pandemonium in the back yard. Screeching and clucking and crying. Adam and I run out to discover chickens leaping into the air and racing in all directions. Very quickly they have disappeared over the fence and beyond the yard.
The only clue to the crime that has been committed is in the tree. The mother of the three tiny chickens is sobbing her heart out. We look around the yard for them, and listen for their little chirps, but there is nothing.
Adam says he saw the goanna run underneath the shipping container. I stop searching. Poor Mamma. She is so sad. She sings her sorrow into the yard. She starts to climb down the tree. I want to cry too.
Then I hear it.
cheep! cheep!
…and out runs a tiny black chick! One of them survived! Mamma runs towards it.
cheep! cheep! cheep!
Two of them! She runs back the other way, frantic and happy.
cheep! cheep! cheep! cheep! cheep!
All of them!
She runs around and around, slowly bringing them all back into a family group, one by one.
I tell Adam I am going to learn to shoot a gun, and then I am going to blow the head right off that fucking lizard.
Writing.
From way down in the yard, I hear a loud and regular clucking. It sounds like Mamma did.
‘There’s something going on down there. I’m going to check that out.’ I get up.
‘Don’t waste your time, babe. It’s OK. It’s just someone laying an egg.’
‘But she’s been doing it for ages now. How long does it take to lay an egg?’
‘About 15 minutes.’
‘… so you’ve laid one before have you?’
‘What?’
‘How do you know it takes 15 minutes? Have you laid an egg before?’
‘Don’t you have a book to write?’
He’s right. I do. I should get on with that. Stay present, Alex.
Writing.
It’s too fucking hot. I’ve drunk five litres of water today. I turn the sprinklers on and run around on the lawn.
hoOOOOOONK! araAAAAAW! araAAAAW!
The pea hen has come right up to the verandah. I honk at her.
‘hoOOOOOONK!’
She answers,
araAAAAAW! araAAAAW!
Then Adam honks at her and she answers again.
araAAAAAW! araAAAAW!
Then she goes away.
Writing.
Gem Dog wanders out onto the verandah, hot as hell. She bulldozers her way under the table and then with a big wretch, vomits on the ground near Adam’s foot.
Adam looks at the mess and winces.
Gemma slurps it all up and goes away.
Writing.
EEEEE AAAaaw! EEEEE AAAaaw!
Jenny the fluffy donkey has come into the feeding paddock. It’s time. Three thirty on the dot.
Before we retire to our glass of beer, I check in on the other chicken who is nesting out the back of the meat room. She is skinny and tired and her feathers are all limp. Her chicks should be making their way into the world any day now.
‘Don’t worry Mamma. I’ll protect you. I’ve got my eye on that bloody lizard.’