PRIMAL INSTINCT

PRIMAL INSTINCT

‘All clear’, growled Rex, from the doorway.

The other attendees left their normal stations and re-grouped round the dusty floor.

Angus, the self-styled elder of the gathering, cleared his throat before speaking.

‘Right, where were we?’

‘Methane; you had started to talk about methane, Angus’.

‘Ah, yes. Thank you, Daisy. Yes, methane. It seems to be all we hear about at the moment; methane this, methane that. It’s all getting blown out of proportion...’

‘What is it, exactly?’

‘Larry, perhaps you can explain it to Daisy and the others better than I? You’re the wiz re these modern new-fangled fads’.

Larry, rather shyly, stepped forward. Known very much as a follower rather than a leader, this was an unusual moment in the spotlight for him and his voice vibrated slightly with nerves as he spoke.

‘Well, in a nutshell, it’s basically a hydrocarbon, which is to say that it’s more commonly known as a greenhouse gas’.

‘Well, what’s that, when it’s at home?’

‘Daisy, please allow Larry to speak without interrupting’.

Angus’ thundering voice, rather intimidating, as denotes that of one used to getting his own way, silenced Daisy who lowered her head from this admonishment, her beautiful large eyes blinking furiously with embarrassment. Larry, too, had recoiled slightly from this sudden outburst that echoed around this enclosed space but, recovering his equilibrium, he swallowed hard before continuing with his explanation.

‘There are a number of sources, actually. Methane is a product of coal mining, for example, and any use of fossil fuel...’

‘What’s that got to do with us?’

This time, the questioner was none other than Bella, who pushed herself through the throng from the back of the gathering where she had been listening patiently. As the longest serving member of this community, and the bearer of many offspring, she was greatly respected by all of the others and was certainly not slow to speak her mind. Even Angus, a bully at heart, acknowledged Bella’s unspoken authority. Larry, however, sheepish as usual, felt himself between a rock and a hard place with Angus on one side and Bella confronting him on the other.

‘Just get to the point and spit out whatever it is you have to say, Larry. We don’t have all night, you know. I have my babies to feed’.

With an encouraging nod from Angus, Larry composed himself, yet again, and endeavoured to, indeed, get to the point.

‘Well, another source of methane is actually agriculture or, to be more precise, animal agriculture and it transpires that flatulence...’

‘Flatu...what?’

Larry stared, open mouthed at Bella who stood, shaking her head impatiently.

‘Plain speaking, for pity’s sake’, the matriarch pleaded.

‘Yes, Larry, simple terms, please’, Angus joined in, only too delighted to appear on the same side as Bella for once.

‘Alright, in simple terms, then, farting! Every time we fart we release methane into the atmosphere; as much as 30%. Hence the reason why they want to introduce a tax...’

This statement caused a hush to settle over the congregation as they all attempted to comprehend what they were being told. Unusually, it was Daisy, not normally the brightest, who seemed to be the first to fully understand the implications of what had been explained.

‘Hang on a moment. Am I right in saying that, if we didn’t fart, the gases would collect inside of us and...eventually, we’d explode?’

‘Technically speaking, Daisy...uh, yes’.

‘So, either we pay up or we blow up’.

‘Well, actually, Daisy, it’s not, strictly speaking, us who would be taxed but it most certainly would prove onerous on those further burdened with additional taxation and would, almost certainly, cause a review of the viability of animal husbandry’.

‘Dear God, muttered Bella, ‘Do you actually know the meaning of plain speaking?’

‘What Larry is trying to say, Bella, is that our actual futures would be in jeopardy’.

‘Exactly, Angus. Why use a field for pasture and face a hefty tax when that same piece of land could be used to grow vegetables, for example, with no tax’.

With Larry, finally getting to the point, once again, a silence descended over the gathering as the implications of a methane tax became clear. Angus was beginning to wish he had never called this meeting in the first place. Bella regretted her demand for plain speaking. All eyes were on poor Larry, the emissary of doom who was, most definitely, ruing his erudition. A voice from up above them interrupted their thoughts suddenly.

‘It’s even worse than that, I’m afraid’.

Everybody looked up in alarm at the speaker, a newcomer to this motley gang, sitting high above in the rafters in a comfortable bed of hay.

‘I can only speak for us, of course, but I would bet anything that what I have to say applies to all of you, too’.

‘Hush, Henrietta. It’s bad enough that you have frightened us half to death with your stories since you first arrived. Why scare the others?’

Henrietta turned to her admonisher who, along with several others sat alongside her nestled in the hay.

‘You don’t want to acknowledge the truth, Red, but, maybe, they do’.

‘Speak’, boomed the thunderous voice of Angus.

‘Well, I know for a fact that they put something in our food to make us produce more eggs. If they do that to us, you can bet your bottom dollar, they’re doing it to the rest of you, too’.

‘Don’t listen to her. Producing more eggs is a good thing...’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Red. How many times do I have to tell you? We only have a limited time in which we are capable of production. They are speeding up the process. Once we can’t lay anymore, we’re for the chop’.

Red’s feathers shivered at hearing this unwelcome prediction, yet again, and, involuntarily, brushed her throat at the thought of the fate that awaited her. All around in the hay, the other hens burrowed deeper into the sweet smelling silage not wanting to acknowledge the truth.

Bella, meantime, was shaking her head, confusedly.

‘But I don’t lay eggs’.

‘I don’t think she was speaking literally, Bella’, Larry explained bravely.

‘Think about it’, Henrietta pleaded with those below them. ‘You, Bella, how much longer can you continue to have such large litters of piglets? I bet you’re already feeling the strain. And, you, Larry, you’re looking pretty bald to me. What do you think will happen to you now you have no fine coat to offer them?’

Larry shivered. For several days, he’d been willing, urging, his skin to start sprouting a new coat. Bella, no fool, knew that another litter would be her last, so weakened was she by the act of giving birth to so many, her udder red and sore from the greedy sucklers in her last brood but Henrietta was only just warming up.

‘And Daisy, be honest. Are they getting the same amount of milk out of you as before? And, as for you, Angus, you’re a big boy but, the word is, even you’ve been struggling to get it up lately. Am I right?’

Indignant, Angus avoided the pitying looks of those eyes turned in his direction.

‘They’re just using all of us and, when we can no longer give them what they want, we’re all for the high jump. This place is Death Row'.

‘How do you know all this?’ asked Daisy, knowing full well that her yield had, for some time, been decreasing. ‘Anyway, I’m a bit long in the tooth to be turned into human food, so there’.

‘I heard it from others on the truck that brought me here. The future is bleak. It’ll be worse for us chickens but, thankfully, I won’t be around to see it. By the way, Daisy, ever heard of dog food?’

At the sound of these last two words, Rex, ever vigilant at the barn door, felt his ears prick up.

‘She could be totally wrong’, pleaded Red. ‘We don’t have to listen. We have a good life here. We might not be free but we’re looked after well, aren’t we?’

‘For now! Trust me, changes are coming. No more running around for us, at least. Why don’t you listen? If you think you’re imprisoned now, wait until the battery cages come. And, you, Larry, get ready for pens. Bella, it’s a pig sty for you, my girl’.

‘But what can we do?’ bleated Larry.

‘Do? We can get the hell out of here while we can. Bust out; a mass breakout. What’s to stop us? By morning, we can be miles away. They’ll never find us...’

‘But it’s just too dangerous out there. We wouldn’t last long...’ whimpered Red.

‘That’s the fear factor talking. They make us afraid so they can control us better. Don’t you see? What exactly is it you’re afraid of?’

‘Well, foxes for one’.

‘Foxes? How do you know they even exist? Has anybody here actually seen a fox?”

They all looked from one to another but nobody among them could truly admit to ever having set eyes on a fox.

‘You see! There’s strength in numbers, anyway. One measly little fox wouldn’t stand a chance against all of us. Angus would just have to sit on it. Come on, who’s with me? Let’s get out of this prison while we still can’.

Once again, those gathered looked at each other. The hens burrowed even further into the hay until only the tops of their heads were visible. Henrietta knew in her heart that she could never depend on them for they really were chicken but she hoped that, at least, some of the others might see the sense of what she was saying but, one by one, they all conjured up a justifiable excuse.

‘I can feel an egg coming on’, clucked Red.

‘I have to let my piglets suckle’, honked Bella.

‘I have a full load that needs milking before I can go anywhere’, lowed Daisy.

‘Maybe in a couple of months time, when it's warmer, but I’d freeze out there right now’, bleated Larry.

‘And I’m still a stud’, bellowed Angus, defiantly.

Henrietta shook her head sadly before rising from her nesting place and fluttering awkwardly down to the dusty floor below.

‘Well, I tried, I guess. Remember, naivety will be our downfall. We have nothing to fear except fear itself...and all that. Adios amigos!’

With that, the brave, lone hen made her way to the barn door and, without a backward glance, squeezed through the opening. The others looked after her with a mixture of feelings: sadness, shame, regret and a deep foreboding for their futures. Then, one by one, their limited brain power forgot all about Henrietta and the reason for that night’s meeting and they slowly shuffled back to their respective stalls.

All except Rex, the sheepdog, who, throughout, had been keeping watch at the barn door, his nose on full alert for the scent of humans. Not, strictly speaking, a full member of this exalted circle, he had not been permitted to participate in tonight’s meeting but had listened with great interest. He, of course, had seen and chased many foxes but, ever since the new hen had arrived at the farm, he had been particularly drawn to Henrietta, her plump breast causing his mouth to salivate. He knew only too well that he was forbidden, on pain of death, from harming any of the animals but, now, seeing this tasty morsel depart alone, and sensing his opportunity, he could contain himself no longer and, first checking the coast was clear, slipped quietly out of the barn in pursuit of his prey.