The Chronicles of Smurf – Principle 4

Apply Self-Regulation and Accept Feedback

Day 13

The happy day has come!

Finally my incarceration is ended. This morning the kitchen door was not slammed in my face as usual, but held wide for me. The Suzy even encouraged me to go out:

‘Come on, Smurf!’

Suspecting a cruel hoax, I darted for freedom. Then pulled up short after five bounds, finding that I was not being pursued.

It had been my intention to take my leave of this family and head back home to the dear old Nan at the first opportunity. Perhaps taking time to snack on a plump chook before I left.

However, I have discovered a number of drawbacks with this plan.

Firstly, I’m embarrassed to admit that I have no clear idea of my whereabouts. This place is quite unfamiliar to me: soft, green grass instead of hard, grey asphalt and concrete. Little traffic noise and no high fences. Instead of Indian mynas’ strident calls and sparrows’ chirping, a great variety of birds call, squawk, twitter, sing. Instead of Pooky, the miniature dachshund from the neighbouring unit, leaving his scent trails, there is a tapestry of musky smells from unidentified animals. It is quite disorienting.

Secondly, I confess that I have grown rather fond of these humans, who are interesting and unpredictable, but largely harmless and even good-hearted – with the possible exception of the Fern, that grabby-handed, pokey-fingered, foul-tempered dwarf. I should also miss my conversations with Banjo the Awstrayan Pie-Eatin’ Dawg, were I to leave.

All things considered, I decided to stay for the time being.

Still, it would not do to appear too amenable and compliant. I planned to console myself, and satisfy feline honour, by at least despatching one of the chooks.

However, I seem to have fallen prey to the optical illusion that distant things appear smaller. Up close and personal, hens are a lot more daunting than I imagined: bright of eye and sharp of beak. Confident in demeanour and not at all disposed to offer themselves up as lunch.

I tentatively stalked one, a petite Australorp by the name of Bessie, for a few minutes. I was just preparing to pounce when she rounded on me:

‘What do you think you’re doing, Bucko?’ She puffed out her chest and flapped her wings – suddenly an altogether more impressive bird.

I then became aware that I was surrounded by angry-looking, indeed hungry-looking chooks of all sizes and colours. The situation was turning ugly.

I beat a hasty retreat, with the loss of some precious tail hairs and a badly crimped whisker. A thorough groom was necessary to restore my dignity, once at a safe distance from my assailants.

I was reminded, somewhat poignantly, of the fourth permaculture principle on the Suzy’s wall chart:

Principle 4

Apply self-regulation and accept feedback.

Lesson learned. I humbly accept the chooks’ feedback and will regulate myself more strictly in future.

And yet, when they cluck and scuttle so, I cannot help but imagine seizing my feathered prey in a death-grip and sinking my teeth in …

Day 14

My own attempts to give feedback to the Suzy and her family are often disregarded or misunderstood.

The Fern, surprisingly, is quickest to learn, perhaps because her little mind is not much cluttered with things known. She quickly learned, for example, that yanking of tails is followed by sinking of teeth into pudgy, hairless flesh.

The Hub, by contrast, stubbornly refuses to accept my feedback on his door opening services. He either ignores my polite requests entirely, or grudgingly holds the door open for a brief instant – barely long enough to go out, and in again, and out …

I sometimes stand in the gap, tail curling around the jamb. I am attempting to communicate that doors, those troubling and inconvenient human inventions, are to be left open at all times for the easy egress and ingress of felines. (Except when this produces horrid, fur-ruffling draughts.) Yet to no avail. It is vexing.

I have discussed the matter with Banjo. He sympathises: doors often remain inexplicably closed when there are possums to chase or meter readers. The human door operators are most dilatory in the performance of their duties. We bemoan the tail-pinching propensities of doors for a while.

Whilst we have much common ground, Banjo and I disagree on one major point. He contends that, on balance, Humans Know Best. I have tried to point out to him that there is scant evidence to support this proposition.

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Next week in the Chronicles of Smurf:

Principle 5: Use and Value Renewable Resources and Services

Smurf harbours doubts about the security of his food supply – and the intentions of the irascible Washing Machine.