Spirit of the River

One thing people usually learn about me quite early is that they should never underestimate my love for animals (especially birds). Though I have learned to keep my enthusiasm in check most of the time, and usually only show my true love for animals when I am around people I feel comfortable with (if I ever tell you the whole story of Frodo, then it means I trust you!). I'm the kind of person you'll find in the kids' zone in a zoo, petting a goat, and being happy like a child (note: I usually prefer other settings than zoos though - and some zoos deserve to be shut down, but that's a topic for a different blog). I'm the kind of person who goes out of her way to help animals in need, and also the kind of person who often prefers the company of animals to the company of people. Let me explain why that is so. My lovely rooster Frodo, who died last year in New Zealand. And I am in England. I wish I could have been there for him during his last days. Animals mak...

.... basically is that they are not chickens.  Beware: this post is unedited, more like a stream of consciousness. I didn't want to write something structured and thought through today. I won't be offended if you don't read this. I'm just writing it to get it out of my system. When I lived in New Zealand, I took care of quite a few chickens for a few years, and even though I did not have a good human friend to talk to, I always had the chickens, especially my dear rooster Frodo (who died last year, without my presence, because I had to move to the UK). Chickens are far more accepting than people. The chickens only cared about how I treated them. Nothing else mattered. Not the colour of my skin, not the colour of my eyes, not the colour or length of my hair. It did not matter to them whether I wore trousers or a skirt. They did not care about my religion, about my race, about my culture. They simply do not judge based on these things. You can be connected to chick...