Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The case of the prematurely passing poultry
It was a cold and dismal winter day when murder most fowl was committed.
My associate and I, the lovely and enthusiastic Miss Yodeling, were resting inside our domicile enjoying a cup of cocoa for the youngster and creamed and sweetened coffee for myself.
“I say Mrs. Yodeling, don`t you think it`s time to engage in our nightly farm duties,” my associate inquired.
“Yes I do Miss Yodeling, the bovine`s seem to be rather anxious this evening to partake in their nightly ration of grain,” I replied sitting my cup of heady brew aside to don my chore parka and Wellington`s.
Out we meandered to the bovine barn, our heads tucked against the chilling zephyr. Unbeknownst to us we would stumble across a most perplexing and heinous case, for once we entered the pungent housing our well trained and detective like eyes fell upon a cadaver lying beneath the hay manger.
“Great ghosts Mrs. Yodeling! T`is murder most foul!”
“Now now my good woman, let us not jump to any hasty conclusions,” said I pulling a bubble pipe from within the folds of my cape-like chore parka.”Perchance this small bird has merely come upon the end of his Earthly days.”
My associate mulled upon my words as I bent down to investigate the crime scene holding my pipe between my teeth.
Immediately I noticed that the poor deceased fowl bore no marks upon it. Taking care not to disturb the crime scene overly I lifted one wing of the corpse gently.
“Look here Miss Yodeling,” I stated calling her attention to the cadaver,” This bird bears no marks of any predatory attack of any kind.”
“What does it all mean?!” my associate inquired of me.
“It means this is not the work of our arch-nemesis buteo jamaicensis, or the red-tailed hawk. Also one should lay a keen eye to where the corpse was found,” I stated as I rose.”If this dastardly deed had been wrought by our nemesis do you think we would have found the remains inside this out building?”
“Why no, it would have lain outside! By jove Mrs. Yodeling you are most astute!!”
“It is merely elementary deduction Miss Yodeling,” I commented and ran an accessing eye over the inhabitants of this small, hay bedded home. After a moment or two of reflection upon the baffling death I chalked it up to age of the fowl and my associate and I continued onward in our duties.
Truthfully after we disposed of the poor bird my mind went to other things and the untoward demise of one of our flock left my attention. Not until a fortnight had passed would my associate and I be thrown back into the dark abyss of bird-slaughter, which is much akin to man-slaughter but carries a lesser sentence.
We had set off once more to attend to the farming duties, only this most wintery of days our good friend the chief inspector Sir Yodeling Goatherder was accompanying us. A more clever and erudite man you would be hard pressed to find and we had spent the afternoon enjoying some freshly brewed java beans and some holiday cookies.
As we neared the barn the duo of beefy ruminants spoke to us in persistent and impatient tones. Perhaps we HAD dallied in the warmth of our farmhouse sipping and chatting but the oversight was unintentional I assure you.
Due to our late arrival the steers were most aggrieved and as the chief inspector and I entered the feeding area there was much discord and wringing of large heads.
“Now stop your foolishness immediately!” I chastised the beasts soundly, taking care to avoid the plethora of chickens that have resided in the cow barn since a small red hen hatched her clutch there in late summer.
It was directly before the feeding of the grain that another crime was committed! During the melee that ensued as grain was deposited into feed dishes we three heard what would be the last word and testament of yet another chicken.
“Dear heavens!” I gasped.
“Merciful laws!” Chief Inspector Yodeling exclaimed.
“That`s gross!” my associate Miss Yodeling cried out.
Our perpetrator had struck once more and right before our very eyes! Yes, it seems as if our Hereford Patrick was the committer of crimes against poultry. Innocently of course, his girth and bulk led him to place a hoof in such a manner as to irrevocably terminate the sentience of yet another chicken.
After witnessing the homicide it was clear to all gathered that no charges could be filed against the Hereford. It was nothing more than a case of a chicken being in the wrong place at the wrong time and even the chief inspector agreed.
“Well my good Miss Yodeling, it seems this case has been solved,” I commented searching for my bubble pipe.
“It`s a barnyard out there…it`s a barnyard out there,” my associate sang.
“That`s the wrong detective,” I muttered finally finding my beloved pipe, right underneath a Holstein`s rear hoof. Ah well, such is life for the world`s foremost farming detective I reflected.
The above case is based on actual facts.
I would like to offer my sincerest apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Also regrets must be passed along to Peter O`Toole, Basil Rathbone, Robert Downey Jr.* Sighs dreamily* and any other talented thespian who has played or will play Sherlock Holmes. *Ponders on possibility of Moriarty tampering with coffee*