Thursday, 7 July 2011

Thursday @ 3 - "A CochonaryTale"

Has intensive animal husbandry bred out the 'survival' instinct in the farmyard? Perhaps not completely; this week's 'Thursday@3' veers towards all matters bucolic - but not necessarily in the idyllic sense!

(excuse the play on (French) words for the title! :-p)


The goat was right all along; none of us dumb animals is worth diddly-squat when push comes to shove.

That things have changed in management circles is evident in the three long days and nights we’ve been left to fend for ourselves.

The chickens have scattered haphazardly around the yard, scratching out something of a poor living from any seeds and grubs they can hunt out.

The goat bleats in between tearing strips of ivy from the wall.

“I to-old you so-o!” he croaks hoarsely at me, lifting his nose over the boundary of my domain. He smells the cool rainwater that’s collected in the old tin bath in the corner. I suppose he’d slake his thirst if he could; pity he’s tethered. Then again, if he were able to roam free nothing would be safe from his cavernous belly.

The curtains haven’t moved again, I see. The light in the upper room has been on for the duration of this enforced sabbatical. I can’t help feeling all is not well in that house; even the phone has remained unanswered.

The goat is busily chewing again; I am a little tired of his constant mandibular activity. The thunderous echoes of my empty belly remind me of my own hunger. The stream of glorious leftovers that I am accustomed to is becoming a distant memory.

In quiet moments I fantasize on one of the fowls fluttering onto the wall, perhaps to cheekily avail themselves of my water supply. A deft thwack of a judiciously-aimed trotter and it would all be over, bar the blood and feathers and licking my lips.

Meanwhile I laze in the morning sun, semi-comatose in my sty, realising that for once we are not the centre of Farmer Jack’s universe. Diddly-squat is about right.


  1. Quit your bellyaching and do something productive. My boar was able to snuffle up a 5000 year old hatchet head whilst he was lazing in the sun and mama sow was very busy with her offspring. Maybe you would become the center of attention, again, if you were to turn over an arrowhead, for example? Enjoy the sun and don't forget your sunscreen.

  2. aaah, what fun, You two are a hoot.

  3. Shades of Orwell's Animal Farm! Nice description and characterization. Poor animals. What happened to Farmer Jack?

    Tossing It Out

  4. I believe that Farmer Jack has passed on and the poor animals are on their much as that can be.

  5. Hi Sue .. love the picture .. and the story .. hate the thought of animals not being able to be free in circumstances like that - whatever the problem is inside ..

    Love the title too .. cheers Hilary

  6. I am intrigued by this opening. I'm sure Inspector Pufflethump will be along to investigate soon! :)

  7. Methinks all is not well with Farmer Jack. This is terrific writing, Sue. Characterization, visualization: top notch.

    There's always something intriguing going on here. :)

  8. I love this one Sue, there's so much back story to let the imagination play with and the writing is superb!

  9. Thanks, everyone - I had great fun creating this little vignette!

    I do value your comments and hope you'll carry on enjoying this little weekly challenge I've set myself.

    Anyone else want to join in and produce a wee story?