One chicken did not live to see its first week at Chez Egg Factory. There seemed to be no evidence of violence, and until Maria José examined the corpus this morning, I assumed the pullet ate a stray nail or something or was already sick when I bought her. MJ took a closer look and declared that un zorro was the likely culprit. A fox. She said that zorros can climb the fencing like a cat. This was of no comfort. But I still have nine, and they seem content. Brynn is still obsessed with them and endlessly trots up and down the fence, until she comes to the house, drinks deeply, and falls over into a long nap.
My family in Managua love to eat lamb, it turns out, and so this morning, I walked to Mr. Bond's farm again and inquired about buying a leg of lamb for Christmas dinner. No, I was told, I'd have to buy the whole lamb, on the hoof. Is there someone in Diriamba who could butcher the beast for me, I asked. Sure, but you might talk to Gilberto. He could take care of that for you.
Gilberto was off in a field making hay. When we waved, he came over with the farm's German Shepherd, "Biter," a misnomer if ever there was one. The dog is friendly and loves to be petted. Gilberto said he would be glad to do the deed - we did not talk terms, but I doubt it's more than $20. The lamb will cost $130, but I will have a freezer full of good meals well into the new year. I'll go back and pay for the lamb in early December and reconfirm with Gilberto. I expect to take a frozen leg to Managua a week before Christmas.
As I walked back up the shady road, I noticed about fifty ewes grazing near the farm entrance. They are kept closely shorn; otherwise, they'd never survive the heat. They are probably already pregnant with next year's lambs. Watching lambs gamboling is what turned Paul and Linda McCartney into vegetarians. I am a total hypocrite; I could never kill a sweet lil' lamby-pie. But I do like to eat them when they look like yummy roast lamb!
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