Just the facts ma’am…

I’ve got friends that won’t let me choose a film because no matter the effort it’s bound to be disturbing on some level.  There’s a brevity in the social media realm that was brought indirectly to my attention this weekend when a friend who knew “just the facts” of butchering mean bunnies observed that perhaps one should be uneasy because I was seemingly unaffected by the experience.  This could be the ebb and flow of my communication, the perception of time constraints, of stepping into anything deeper than the obvious.  And there’s that character limit shifting the focus back to social media.

preparation

So yes, I participated in the butchering of two mean bunnies, “mean” being the determining factor in the selection of who became dinner.  Mean defined as pet at your own risk, chances are blood (and not the rabbits) will be drawn.  Intellectually knowing this somewhat helps rationalize the process.  I was after all a vegetarian for twenty plus years.  Not a strict one, there was fish included in my diet and I also had the indulged in the occasional slice of prosciutto because there was and is nothing better than a slice of melon or fig wrapped in the substance.  It was more of a taste versus moral stance on my part.

Participated in that I’m an observer, a witness.  My camera functions as a politically correct prop, the way a cigarette used to do at a party.  There was not queasiness, just slight free floating, a bit out of body anxiety steadied with yes, the camera. This works for me in large crowds too.   I somehow felt it important to see it through start to finish.  A sliver of comfort stepped in when the rabbits were half skinned as then they resembled something I was familiar with the cliche of tastes like chicken.  Steaks, chicken and fish, we all are used to seeing in the grocery store.  There’s no shock value there it’s like overdosing on an excess of action adventure films.  We become immune to the violence.  

Did I enjoy the barbeque rabbit hours later?  Not really, there was a certain unease but appreciation for how it got there none the less.

Tea smoked duck…

Tea Smoked in the tub

I’m still the foster parent for five Pekin ducks.  Homes need to be found for four of the five.  One is challenged, no social skills with fellow ducks, prone to standing in a corner,  no instinct for putting himself to bed and sketchy eating habits.  Every evening I hunt him down in the dark so others won’t.  He makes the one who’s been missing an eye since ducklinghood appear fully abled.  Naturally he’s the one duck I’m thinking we should hold onto.  It took me weeks to catch them in the act of bathing in their not so natural pond.  I had noted that post breakfast they were looking cleaner, more groomed in a metrosexual fashion but had still not witnessed the ritual.  Satisfaction came in the form of the sound of splashing the other morning.

Yours, but not your gardens…

Momo and "her" sofa

I’m a self proclaimed dog person and as a recent article in the NY Times pointed out dogs and gardens are not necessarily best friends.  I know from personal experience that if I’ve handed off a nice raw bone and open the French door to the back yard there is going to be digging.  Fresh from the butcher is not as tasty as seasoned with dirt is what I’ve taken away from the observation.  Investigation to be done?  Any and all things green regardless of how established are fair game for trampling. Luck has played a part in nothing toxic being consumed.  Despite all we coexist, some days being a bit more chaotic than others.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/26/garden/26garden.html?_r=1&ref=garden