The neat rows of standard roses we had so carefully planted
the evening before, were now mere twigs, denuded of every
last bud and leaf, their plastic labels flapping mockingly
in the early morning light. Then I spied him. 'Ginty' my other
half from the big city's recently acquired goat. "What did
I tell you about that dammed goat," I stormed. "We won't have
a plant left. You-- must-- get--rid--of--it."
"The
fence would need to be higher," the other half, said
sheepishly. "I --want--rid--of--it," I stormed back.
Half an
hour later my eight year old son knocked gingerly on the kitchen
door. Sitting there, on his hunkers, with one arm around 'Ginty'
he said sweetly, "'Ginty' says he's sorry. He didn't know
they were flowers. Says, he won't do it again." As I looked
at that pleading expression in his eyes, I knew that 'Gantry'
was here to stay and that I was in the minority of one. Noah's
ark had come to rest on our remote Dangle hillside.
It all
began with chickens. " It would be nice to have few chickens.
They would give us nice fresh eggs," my London bred spouse
announced, shortly after arriving in Dangle.
"I want
no dirty chickens," I protested. I'd seen enough hens in my
youth, growing up as I did on a farm near Could. I'd cleaned
more dirty eggs, and scraped up more hen-droppings than I
cared to remember.
But,
he was very persuasive, and in the end it was agreed that
if he constructed a hencoop with a high fence, he could have
the hens.
A week
or so later, he purchased a dozen hens, a rooster and six
ducks from a county Antrim farmer he had met in the course
of his business. They were put in sacks with holes punched
in them, for easy breathing. And so, on a gray early winter's
night, he set off for home delighted with his new feathered
friends. He had just crossed the border at Muff, when a car
pulled out from a laneway and flashed him down. Two custom's
officers in uniform came up to the drivers window, "anything
to declare sir ?"
"Nothing
at all."
"Will
you get out and open your boot."
When
he had opened the boot, the officer peered in, and on seeing
the sacks asked, "What have you here sir,?"
"Hens
in one. Ducks in the other," replied the spouse.
The customs
man glanced at his colleague, and with a knowing nod said,"
he says, he's got ducks in one sack--and hens in the other."
Then his
tone became more aggressive, "open them," he ordered.
As the
patient spouse untied the top of the first sack he warned,
"Be careful in case they get out."
"Just
get on with it," the officer said, impatiently.
When
the sacks were opened, the customs man gingerly put his hand
inside. Disturbed at the unwanted, intrusion, and anxious
to protect his harem, the irate rooster flapped his wings
and lashed out with his sharp beak. He jumped backwards.
"Bloody
hell, it is hens," he shouted, retrieving his hand at speed,
and rubbing it against his trouser leg.
"You're
not supposed to take live poultry across the border," he added,
furiously.
The spouse's
brow broke out in a sweat of panic, at the mere thought of
having his precious feathered friends taken from him. "I just
bought them for a few fresh eggs. They're very healthy," he
added, with a note of apology.
Apart
from the odd cackle and quack, there was a moment of silence.
"Go on. If I come across you smuggling poultry again I'll
seize them, 'and fine you into the bargain," he warned, as
he got back into the car.
At the
first glint of dawn, the rooster greeted us loudly the following
morning and every subsequent morning until he died from old
age. A few weeks later he bought a ewe for the princely sum
of eight pounds. On hearing about the newest arrival, a neighboring
farmer came to see it. With a puzzled frown, he took a long
look at the sheep, and then looked into her mouth. Straightening
up he rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he asked, "what
'oul nave sold you that thing?"
"Why?"
'himself' asked, surprised by the manner of the question.
" She's
as oul as the hills. She'll not survive the winter, because
there's hardly a tooth in her head."
While
we were digesting this bad news, his next words cast an even
deeper gloom. "And she's blind in the right eye. Never make
it through the winter if she can't graze. Aye, the nave that
sold you that thing should be shot," he repeated, with a silent
shake of the head.
Because
of the absence of teeth,. she was named 'Miss Gums' and she
proved the farmer wrong by not only surviving the winter,
but by also, producing an offspring the following spring.
The wise old sheep came to the kitchen door twice daily to
be fed with softened food that compensated for her lack of
teeth.
And, so
it was that 'Miss Gums' multiplied into a flock of sheep.
During
the following year or so, 'Old Mc Donald,' wasn't in it. The
spouse would arrive home from work, grinning from ear to car.
"You'll never guess what I got you?" he would say. I would
look gingerly into the boot, and looking back at me, there
would be the bright eyes of a kid goat, a pet lamb, a special
breed of rabbit or some other creature in need of loving care.
The children
would jump for joy, while my heart would sink. Our endless
procession of four legged friends grew bigger in size, when
he rented a field to graze his first horse. They too multiplied
when the new foals arrived.
As reflected
in his gifts; my city man is a country man at heart.
