An eggsperiment—update (France)

The details are being hatched.

(France, September/October 2011)

Update 280112:  It’s been a long incubation, getting this blog hatched.

I’d been cutting greens for the rabbits—whose hutches are within the same enclosure as the hens and the turkeys — and would immediately, while still in the field, conscientiously pick off the minute escargots that clung to the stems and leaves.  On one occasion, just as I was about to feed the greens to the rabbits, I noticed that I’d missed out on a couple of escargots, so I picked them off and threw them onto the ground, which were instantly pounced upon by the hens and turkeys.

It set me thinking that the hens might welcome the change in their diet (of grain and vegetable scraps from the kitchen) and the escargot shell would provide the calcium for egg-shell-making.  Besides, even if I couldn’t make much of a dent in the escargot population, it might help save some of the wooden boundary posts—the chap in the village was complaining only the other day that they chomp through his fence posts at an alarming rate.

The next foray into the field saw me equipped with not just the bucket and knife for the greens but also a big plastic yoghurt tub and teaspoon for the escargots.  (The teaspoon is for scooping up any escargot dropped, as it’s difficult to pick up the tiny pests with one’s fingers.)  

I soon discovered that another field was so densely populated with the creatures that, instead of picking them singly off each rabbit green or blade of grass, I could just pick up a dried thistle branch and shake off all the clingers-on into the plastic tub, or scrape huge clusters off the boundary posts, thus filling up the yoghurt tub within five minutes max and saving myself a lot of work.

I’d then approach the hen enclosure, rattling the tub to build up their eagerness in anticipation as part of the training (see also blog entry Pig training).  Sure enough, the hens would pounce on the little tit-bits tossed over the fence, especially the turkeys who absolutely relished them.

My eggsperiment produced results within a day, much sooner than I’d expected.  

Farm mistress Jeanette reported egg production up by 50%: the 20 hens and turkeys would normally produce about eight eggs a day in the summer, but after my twice-daily supply of escargots, we’d get 12 per day.  In the end, we were giving the eggs away to people in return for things like their helping to plough the fields, say.  

I will be repeating the eggsperiment this coming summer, just to make sure it wasn’t a coincidence, and report back.  Watch this space!

(France September/October 2011)

Aptly-named dog (France)

Being the slow thinker that I am, it's only just dawned on me during this visit how aptly named Dino is, even though his deceased previous owner (a French farmer) very likely didn't know any English.  The ball of scruff has "din" in his name!  

Dino takes up position immediately outside the kitchen door (at the side of the house) for that’s a most handy spot for being the first to get all the scraps.  

As soon as he hears one of the other dogs (stationed at the front of the house) bark, he leaps straight into barking action, before he even gets a glimpse of what it might be barking at, charging out to the front of the farm house, woofing with all his might but, as Jeanette mimes it to me, he has absolutely no clue what he’s barking about, glancing around him with a baffled look even while he’s barking furiously, wondering what he is supposed to be barking at or about. 

Often, he rushes up to Patou, the old grandee of the dogs and his arch growling enemy, just barking at him instead.  He seems to be joining in purely for the sake of not wanting to be left out.  The term for it now would be FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out).

On this winter visit, I’ve had a few more opportunities to test out my theory (developed in September last year) about his having been beaten a lot before he came to the farmhouse.  

My other entry Dino the dirty dog mentions his getting up immediately and moving away when you approach him, which smacks (ha! pun!) of his trying to avoid a beating or kicking.  This time, he was a lot more trusting of me, actually allowing me to go all the way up to him, and to pat and stroke his head.  Quite an improvement, indeed, from when I first met him in the summer of 2010.

Once or twice during this winter stay, I’d had to restrain him by the scruff of his neck when I put out a dish of food scraps for the cats and he tried to muscle in.  The high-pitched yelping and whining that he let out sounded like I’d trodden on his feet or whacked him really hard.  (Actually, re-reading this some nine years later, it’s just occurred to me that this high-pitched yelping and whining might’ve been from his mistreatment at the hands of his previous owner.)

To his credit, though, at least he did not try to disobey or bite me.  

There’s hope yet, then, of training this wretched cur to understand that not every hand that reaches out towards him is for inflicting pain.  Maybe at some point, we can get the “o” (zero noise) out of him rather than just the constant “din”.

(Gers, France, 2012)

Chivalry brotherly fashion (Singapore)

I am not afraid of snakes or spiders, in spite of the fact that they can be poisonous and might bite.  Yet, even just the mention of the word “cockroach” can make me all queasy and turn to jelly, never mind the sight of one.

One day, when I was about 15, I’d gone into the bathroom to find a cockroach sitting in there.  My brother David was eating his fried rice in the kitchen, so I went to enlist his help.  

In my family, all the nasty jobs were given to the men, if not to the servants:  burying the family pet dog or cat, clearing up after the new puppy or kitten.  So it was only natural that my brother should be approached for getting rid of the cockroach.

I rushed up to him, in a right state, “Please, Dave, there’s a cockroach in the bathroom!  Can you go and get rid of it?”  

He just sat there, silently staring at me and munching his fried rice.  

I pleaded with him again and again, but each time he just looked at me with his big eyes.  

I finally said, “Don’t be so cruel, Dave, PLEASE.  You know I’m terrified of cockroaches.  PLEASE, PLEASE.”  

He eventually said, “You’re terrified of them.  You think I’m not?!?”

(Singapore, 1960s)

Single-minded eating (Taiwan/London)

It was something first pointed out by Pete the Conoco geologist (see blog entry Ten dollar) when we were eating a (Taiwanese adapted) Western meal in Taipei.  (I say “adapted” because the menu said “fried chicken in a basket with chips” but the “chips” were American chips, i.e., potato crisps, which one eats as a snack, not with fried chicken as a main course.  And certainly not with a knife and fork, as they just shatter like crispy bacon and fly all over the place.)

Anyway, there I was, tackling the meal which comprised the fried chicken, the so-called chips, and 2 other vegetables (usually boiled peas and carrots).  Pete then made the observation that I was only plugging away at the peas: “Why are you not eating the chicken?”  I’d say, “Oh yes, I’d forgotten about the chicken,” and start tucking into the chicken.  Then Pete would say, “But, now you’re ignoring the carrots,” and I’d go, “Oh, right,” and start on the carrots.

Just the other day, some 37 years later, eating a shepherd’s pie (with 3 vegs and potatoes), I noticed I was still doing the same thing:  I’d start eating the peas and the peas and the peas and the peas, forgetting about the carrots, the potatoes, the cabbage and the shepherd’s pie.  When I noticed this, I’d then switch to, say, the carrots, and forget the peas, the cabbage, the potatoes and the shepherd’s pie.

(Taiwan 1976, London 2012)

No, it's schist (Taiwan)

I’d been away on a walking weekend in the mountains of central Taiwan (along the Cross Island Highway from the east coast to the west, starting from Taroko Gorge), and picked up a flat piece of stone — very dark grey, almost black, slate-like.  


When my Chief Geologist boss at Conoco, Dr. Richard Page, asked me about my weekend, I showed him my newly-acquired friend, and said to him, “It’s nice, isn’t it?”  

Ever so quick-witted, his immediate response was, “No, it’s schist!”  

He was punning on the sound “nice” (gneiss is similar to schist and slate) as well as correcting me (the piece I'd picked up was indeed schist, not gneiss), thus killing two birds with one stone.  (Ha, pun!)  

From that day on, we (the Chief Geologist, the three geologists and I) would use the word “schist” instead of “nice”, which always raised eyebrows because people would think we were about to use the swear word "sh*t".

(Taiwan 1976)

Missing floor

Further to my blog entry Bungee jumping from tall buildings, the Chinese  don’t like the number “four” as it sounds like “to die/death”.  So places like hospitals, in particular, might have the fourth floor missing altogether.  I recently saw a Taiwanese film made in the 70s, and there is a scene where some people were visiting someone at a hospital.  There is a shot of the floor numbers inside the lift which clearly shows: 1, 2, 3, 5, 6.

PS:  In Japanese, one does not say “shi nin” for “four people” as it sounds like “dead people”.  One says “yo nin” instead.

Dragon babies (Taiwan)

The (Chinese lunar) year of the dragon started on 24 January this year (2012).  

Dragon babies, especially male ones, are considered particularly auspicious (in terms of future prospects in life), because it is believed by some that the dragon rules the heavens.  So people will try for one in a dragon year, because the next opportunity of a dragon baby won’t be for another 12 years. 

When I was working in Taiwan in 1975–6 for Conoco (now ConocoPhillips), our draughtsman was in a relationship but not particularly desperate to get married.  (In those days, one didn’t openly confess to sleeping with one’s romantic other half, although people around often knew but kept quiet about it.)  He said that he and his girlfriend would wait to see if she got pregnant (the following year was a dragon year), and only get married formally if she did.  Well, she did get pregnant, and they did get married as soon as they found out.  

Interesting how some people allow their lives to be ruled by customs and conventions to that extent...

(Event happened 1975)