“How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”
-The Merchant of Venice
It has been a while since we told a chicken story here, and I was beginning to worry that my editor might think our little flock had run afoul of some calamity. Mr. Tibbs and the girls are fine, but the baby chicks we bought to add vigor to the herd did not fare well.
Of course we won’t tell you the name of the business that sold us the unvaccinated, diseased little unfortunates. Suffice it to say that a company which supplies tractors should probably stick to that and refrain from any side ventures which require a high level of integrity across the entire supply chain.
The poultry business has become so vulnerable to disease that a friend who rents a facility to one of the large suppliers cannot visit his own property without first undergoing a sterilization procedure and wearing a protective suit designed, not for his protection but for the safety of the birds. Diseases spread rapidly and a large investment can be destroyed in a matter of days.
A reputable supplier vaccinates the birds and ships directly to the customer. Alternatively, when your baby chicks come from a retailer which may purchase unvaccinated birds on the cheap, which then must survive the stress of shipping only to be cared for by untrained or uninterested employees, your chances of raising healthy chickens diminish significantly.
Our broody hens rejected the newcomers, which in hindsight was probably fortunate. We were then required to separate the babies from the herd and care for them ourselves. They were just beginning to bond with us when they started to die, quite horribly. First one, then the next day another in the morning and then four all at once.
Tracey was heartbroken. When she discovered the last three in their death throes, weeping she held and comforted them because she didn’t want them to be alone when they passed. Just when you think you can’t love a woman more…
Most of us are blessed to know someone who is possessed of the quality of mercy. Not long after our sad event I read an account by a friend who grieved for an aged pelican standing alone at the edge of the surf waiting to die. There is something beautifully human about the ability to recognize that destiny we share with all living creatures, and the desire that none of us should stand on that shore alone.
But human empathy is not evenly distributed. The narcissist, the borderline personality, and the psychopath have little or none. For others, it may be selective. The loner who despises humanity may rescue stray animals. Many reserve compassion for a particular tribe, which may be perceived as immediate family, political party, generation, race, or nationality.
In an election year, empathy and compassion contract. The political process aggravates the divisions humanity has always struggled to overcome. Every time I visit social media I witness grievous insults and derisive humor levied even by God-fearing, church-going people, and I cannot cast the first stone. One of my favorite memes depicts Jesus looking over a man’s shoulder at his phone with the caption, “Jesus showing me my memes and explaining why I can’t go to heaven.”
Empathy, compassion, love for our fellow man is complicated and often difficult. The puppy pawing at my arm as I write this suggests that the Creator gifted us the ability to love our pets and feel compassion for so many other creatures on this planet, perhaps as a way to exercise the ability and keep it alive for a higher purpose.
Outside The Box 