Compost Frenzy

Cleared a path out to the compost heap, then turned the pile, dug a hole in the center and buried organic waste, covered that with the stove ash then a goodly layer of green matter. The bob cat at 11:20, then a pack of feral dogs that I ran off with the slingshot around midnight. The alpha dog is a pit-bull cross that I will surely have to kill. I got a large bag of clear tinted marbles at Big Lots for $2, a year's supply at least. A Neco Wafer at 25 feet is a very good target. One summer I dated the Neco heiress. Her family had a compound on the Cape and flew down, in their seaplane, on week-ends. It never was going to work out, but it was fun while it lasted. I went quail hunting with her father once, on a farm outside of Marshfield. He had really good dogs, raised, kept, and trained by his dog guy, who made a small fortune selling young trained dogs. We were working through nice cover and flushed a large covey. He hunted with a beautiful double-barrel Parker and I was shooting a Sears pump sheet gun. When the covey flushed, he brought down two birds, one with each barrel, and I happened to catch two birds crossing and brought them both down with one shot. It must be noted that I had never done this before (or since) but I had heard that it was sometimes done. Good eyes and quick reflexes. It almost made up for my not going to Harvard. Sometime later, after two, a huge male raccoon becomes king of the hill. I can see the glowing eyes of a possum at the edge of the woods. There's a lot of hissing and snarling. I didn't actually turn the compost heap and clean out the refrigerator for its entertainment value, but there you go. The coon, having burrowed through the ashes, looks very old. I throw out a couple of firecrackers to run everyone off, maintain a modicum of control, but I'm left with a shy grin. Either Jack or Jim, John or Jose. Jesus is a pretty common name. Stove ash, maybe a dead chicken, some greens, you end up with top soil. I mention the chicken because I took one off the road recently, which isn't that odd except that was in the middle of nowhere. Middle of the state forest, miles from any chicken coop. They still fight cocks around here, and it's easy enough to imagine a few escapees breeding for one or two generations in the wild, but feral chickens are a stretch. They're so stupid. Still, you think about the difference between domesticated and wild turkeys. The fighting cock blood line comes from Malaysia where there are many more predators. Both the pheasant and the rainbow trout are introduced species. It's possible that the Ridge Hen could become a game bird. Not unlike Guinea Hens, where even the breast is dark meat; the chicken thighs, as Harrison says, of yesterday. I much prefer dark meat. The flavor, plus the fact that it's cheap. More rain, it's already tomorrow, I need to sleep.