Sigh. This was to be a light-hearted post. But in one of life’s cruel ironies….. Frenis was slaughtered last night. Yes, I know by whom. Yes, we are attempting to resurrect Frenis. But we have not had any luck with the healing kit so far. 😦 So, this will have to stand as Frenis’ obituary…. Frenis – I’m going to really miss you. I was getting quite fond of you, my not-so-little roosck.
Theory: Environment, not genetics, plays the greatest role in determining species orientation.
There are those who will argue that all that we are is predetermined. That our genes make us. Our genes set the pattern of our days from birth to death. That we can make no move, no action, that has not been etched by millenia of genetic evolution. That we are born what we are and live that path until the very last moment.
Frenis and I say “Rubbish”. We are MORE than mere chemicals. More than simple genetic instructions. We are the result of every action and event that plays about us as we move through our world. In the score of our being we reflect every note once heard. In the tapestry of our life we show each thread left by passing encounters. In the flavor of our choices we signify each cook in our broth. The fault, dear Frenis, lies not in our stars, but in ourselves that we are ducklings.
I was given a ROOSTER. Alright, to be accurate – I was given a sionChicken. Of the male variety. A rooster. Poultry. With thanks to Wikipedia:
I was given the sionChicken food set. The rooster came in a sionChicken transport box. It had a “chicken status” attachment. There was a sionChicken FAQ notecard to answer all my questions about my chicken. Vital questions such as:
Q: My chicken is eating too much??!?!?!!?
A: ONE chicken needs ONE food bowl per week. This is a fact.
Q: How do i feed my chickens?
A: Just put a bowl on the ground.
Q: I wanted to put my chicken into the inventory, now its dead! Why?
A: You cannot put chickens into inventories, backpacks or pockets.
Except THAT is genetics. Environment has turned my chicken into a DUCK. Frenis is a duck. QUACK QUACK QUACK. Okay, the stupid bird still crows, but he tries to quack. Sigh. Yes, I admit it. This is all MY fault. It is ALWAYS the mother’s fault, is it not??? Movies show us endless scenes of patients on the therapy couch whining about how their mother did them wrong. Pffft. Fine. I TRIED. I did my BEST. I WARNED Shen that I was not a suitable parent for a chicken. /me lifts my chin defiantly.
How was I to know that unpacking the chicken down by the ducks would change his life forever? What could I, a liberal arts major, specializing in ancient Rome, know from filial imprinting? I thought that Frenis would be happy to be with the other poultry. Convivial companions as it were.
Frenis is a duck. No matter where I place that rooster, he wanders back into the water. He NEVER wanders OUT of the water. (The ducks never leave the water.) He never eats. But he is never hungry. (The ducks don’t eat.) The ducks and Frenis now form a circle. (The ducks used to ignore him.) Frenis has become a duck. He has overcome the mere matter of his digital genes and followed his environment. The proof is conclusive. The theory holds. Can evolution (or plastic surgery) be far behind????
When I get a dog, I’m not letting it anywhere near the water.