Farm animals interviewed

- "Why are you abhorred by certain religious denominations ?" "Don’t you know your Holy Bible? And you call yourself a Christian? Read St. Mark’s Gospel chapter 5, verse I onwards. Jesus Christ commanded the devils who had inhabited Legion to leave him. They did so, but entered tbe Gaderene herd of my ancestors who were peacefully feeding on the hillside. Most of the herd of about 2000 swine rushed down the slope and drowned themselves in the sea.

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by Sepala Ilangakoon

(April 10, Colombo, Sri Lanka Guardian) We students of the School of Agriculture, formerly and notoriously known as the ‘Farm School’, had a wide range of subjects in our curriculum, one of which was Animal Husbandry - a favourite among the students. We spent so much of our time in the Animal Husbandry section of the farm as opposed to the Field Crops section, that we were almost able to converse with the farm animals. Hence the subject of this essay.

I have already written on Carton Boyo, the stud bull and his prayers. Hence I shall defer the Dairy and go to the Piggery. As would be expected, this abode of our pigs was a rather smelly place, not because the pigs were piggish but rather, their accommodation was never washed down like the cow sheds were.

The leader of the herd was a massive, imported ‘Large White’ boar who was also the stud. So I interviewed him first. "Do you like your prime function here?" "What do you expect ? Wouldn’t you, if you were in my place?" "Have you any preferences among your harem ?" "No, no ! When it comes to my role here, all sows are the same to me - they are all hogs, whether they are Berkshire, Large Black, Large White, or whatever. But pardon me for using a word I do not like -’Discrimination’. I do discriminate among the breeds. I do not fancy the local sows - they are so small made that I am reluctant to oblige."

"Don’t you mind the unbearable stench of the pig sty ?" I certainly do not! Do you mind the fancy perfumed boudoir of your home ? It nauseates me!" "That stout post wrapped round with thick coir rope; why do you spend so much time rubbing yourself on it ?" "Oh That ! The rope is soaked with used engine oil which serves as an insect repellent. We are not thick skinned as you would imagine and insects do bother us. That is why we wallow in the mud and allow it to cake on us".

"Why are you abhorred by certain religious denominations ?" "Don’t you know your Holy Bible? And you call yourself a Christian? Read St. Mark’s Gospel chapter 5, verse I onwards. Jesus Christ commanded the devils who had inhabited Legion to leave him. They did so, but entered tbe Gaderene herd of my ancestors who were peacefully feeding on the hillside. Most of the herd of about 2000 swine rushed down the slope and drowned themselves in the sea. Since the devil is in us we are considered ‘Unclean’ by some of you humans but others relish a course of roast pork with the melting fat and that scrumptious hard baked skin called cracknel".

"Why are you castrated when you are mere piglings ?" "Oh! That’s part of your veterinary science which teaches you that we are precocious and breed too young. They choose the best of us for stud purposes and castrate the piglings still in their childhood. Castration is an act against nature. It makes the male effeminate and he loses his manliness or more accurately for us our maleness." Haven’t you heard that yarn about the practical joker who castrated his little piggies, fried their little testicles and served them to a lady guest as ‘Porkies’ - a short eat ? She relished them so much, she helped herself to a second helping. And when her host explained what the ‘Porkies’ really were, she rushed to the toilet, put her finger in her throat and tried to vomit — with no luck; so she did the next best thing, she used Detol to wash her mouth and to gargle!!"

I walked across to the stable to interview the horse, Equuo caballus to give it its Latin name. He was not a farm animal but a magnificent stallion which could have been used in the days of yore as a ‘Charger’ in the Crusades. His name was Dobin. "Hullo Dobin, how are you this morning ?" No answer. Only a stomping of his fore foot on the ground and a loud whinny denoting annoyance. "I noted that you came to me only after you interviewed the grubby pigs. Am I second to the dirty pigs? Don’t you know our status in the animal kingdom? Did the Crusaders charge mounted on pigs?!! He had a point there; so I appeased him with a cube of sugar candy and moved on.

The goats are smelly too, but not half as much as the pigs. Billy was the prize stud - a pure bred Anglo-nubian Jamnapari, much larger than the common goat and with the typical rounded nose. The goat shed is normally on wooden slats so that the hooves are not in the mud causing hoof rot disease. Billy asked "Why are you giving preference to goats before interviewing sheep?" "Because to me, there is no order of precedence between sheep and goats." "What? even though I am a goat? To you ‘Goat’ is a derogatory word, unlike ‘Sheep’. Don’t try to bluff me. I am an intelligent goat".

I moved on to the sheep pen and met Boy Blue. "Do you consider yourself superior to goats Boy Blue?" "Don’t you know the difference between lamb and mutton? Which is worthier?" He was right, but I countered with "But in life before you become lamb or mutton, you look so similar." "Know your Animal Husbandry. We are alike only in the tropics. In our homeland, we are coated with thick, white wool which you guys shear and use for warm vests, blankets, etc." "Yes, I agree but here in the tropics the only difference between you two species is that goats keep their tails up while sheep keep their tails down." "Yes that is because we are more modest !"

In the poultry house I saw the distinctive breeds - Rhode Island Reds, White Leghorns and Black Minorcas each breed kept separate with one rooster for dozens of hens. Mr. Doodle Do rushed up to me. "What do you want?" - rather rudely. "I came to find out why you don’t chase behind the hens until they sit down in supplication to you." "Why should I chase? There are so many to choose from and they are almost all the same, while I am cock-a-hoop as the English say." "Lucky you !"

When I spoke to one of Mr. Doodle Do’s wives she was sulking. "I am broody. I am looking for a clutch of eggs to sit on and to hatch out sweet fluffy chicks who would run to me in the garden whenever I found a tidbit for them". "What’s the alternative?" "Don’t you know? The Farm Manager does not want broody hens any more to hatch his eggs. He has replaced us with an incubator! A mechanical device where temperature, etc. can be regulated to desired levels. A metal surrogate mother! Can you beat it!!"

Mooo the cow, was of pedigreed Friesian stock black, with irregular patches of white. Before I could start, she jumped the gun with "Having written about ‘A stud bull’s prayer’, why are you here?" "Only to verify if all I heard from Carton Boyo was true". "He was only a measly English Ayreshire; not to be even compared with us aristocratic Dutch Friesians who hold ourselves superior to all other breeds. Carton Boyo is fortunate that our son Dutch Breudher is only a juvenile. Else, he would have taught Carton a thing or two about studs!"

My next stop was at the duck pond where the pure white Ailesbury ducks and drakes were having a whale of time, swimming around and diving for fragments of food or preening themselves in the sun to dry. I confronted Quack and asked him to explain to me about the gland under the tail which excretes an oily stuff which they and their genus of birds take in their beaks and rub on their feathers to make them waterproof. "Oh that’s a trade secret which I am not permitted to divulge lest our arch rivals the vain swans should crib the formula for their own use." Good reasoning. "What do you make of those English phrases - ‘A dead duck’ ‘Score a duck‘ ‘Ugly duckling’, etc." "Oh those English! Given half a chance, they would play ducks and drakes with us all, including you!"

That was the end of my farm tour, so I bade my farm friends adieu and, quite content with my interviews, went home to my word processor.
- Sri Lanka Guardian