The bad neighbors have been evicted and they’re gone, yes indeedy spank the Lord and praise my fanny they’re gone, and now, as I gaze on the detritus left behind, I’ve become more contemplative about the nature of neighborliness. It’s a liberal thing. I mean, I never went over there with a plate of cookies or anything. By the same token, they never offered me any of their crack. But they never actually set anything on fire, and they were real quiet until noon most days. It could have been worse.
As it is in Pennsylvania’s N. Buffalo township, for instance, where the neighbors of Mr. Randy Good are pondering their next move. Mr. Good has a contract with the township to scoop up all the dead deer on the highway and haul them to the landfill, and what with one thing and another, he’s been stacking them in his back yard instead, where about two hundred of them are piled ten feet deep, before settling. Even in cold weather, this has had a deleterious effect on the atmosphere, and the neighbors have taken to burning candles in order to deal with it. Candles, torches, whatever.
I don’t think this is sanctioned official procedure. In the post office, they frowned on us letter carriers taking our work home, especially those of us with garages or basements. But even for those mailmen who did get involved in home mail storage, the storage system itself would not have been a nuisance to the immediate neighbors. Anything of an olfactory nature was more likely to be emanating from the mailman himself. It’s a whole different kettle of fish with deer.
Apparently, you can compost dead animals as though they were turnips, and in some locales, that’s what they’ve taken to doing. It works the same way as yard debris, and involves a large enough pile to really heat up, some water and a means of turning the heap. Mr. Good might well have had a successful composting program going there eventually. He would have needed something to turn his pile with, a source of water and enough roadkill to really get it cooking, which would probably take several more weeks of collection, by which time, of course, he would have discovered himself murdered.
The whole scenario puts me in mind of a dreadful incident from many years ago right here in Oregon. In 1986, Sheridan poultry farmer Larry Mohler lost 26,000 chickens at once during a heat wave when the fans in the coop broke down. It was a tragedy all around, but Mr. Mohler did the right thing and plowed his chickens under right away with a front-end loader. All was quiet for a few days until the bacteria in the chickens’ guts kicked in, digesting tissues and producing gas. According to eyewitnesses, the very dirt itself began to rumble ominously and bubble up and then all at once the chickens, all 26,000 of them, just blew sky-high. “It looked like a little Mt. St. Helens out there,” Mr. Mohler mourned, as well he might. I know I was moved to tears when I pictured it. And what is a poor chicken farmer to do under the circumstances?
Credit my co-worker, John Curry, for the answer. “Put a sign out on the highway,” he said. “Chicken Nuggets. You Pick.”
That reminded me of a question I heard this morning – "Why don't chickens taste of eggs?" …… I'm still confuzzled ………
Gee, my neighbors never complain…
Glad to hear that your evil neighbors have been sorted out. We have taken one neighbor to court and finally forced them to move. And we're working on another neighbor who finally seems to have gotten the message that 7 day a week, 12 hour long, high decibel band practices are a no-no.
I was just sorry you didn't have a pic of your fanny to go along with this post. Oh wait, that was in the LAST post!
26,000 dead chickens blown sky high? That may top the whale story.
Congrats on being rid of the neighbors.
And yet–both stories utterly true.
We're going to be all over the new neighbors, when they show up–with a plate of cookies right off the bat.
Murr, I breathe relief along with you. Neighborliness isn't chemical. I don't think the perpetrators of a meth chemicals dump in front of my house in California were ever identified. But it was all very exciting with the street closed off for a whole day and full of official cars and big red trucks and men in funny white space suits. It didn't blow up or knock anybody over dead, though, not even me. I'd stuck my head into one of the barrels to find out what the dump jerks had left for me to recycle. Oops.
They never offered you any crack? Damn!!!
Well shoot, are they putting the place up for rental again after decontamination? I'd love to be back in line for a bribery of fresh cookies.
Mr Randy Good has a great name, at least.
One house at a time. Gloria (follower and friend of Annie & MA)
I'm in the area for Concordia Coffee's 1st Sunday jazz (11am – 1pm). Have only known area since 2005, but what changes.
Gee, my neighbors never complain…
That reminded me of a question I heard this morning – "Why don't chickens taste of eggs?" …… I'm still confuzzled ………