Lots of response to the new chapter of the oldest story, the farmer and the fox, and yes Thornapple Rover, the fox and the farmer story is a metaphor for life, for sure, which is why I am so drawn to it. “Can’t you post more photos of the dogs?” wrote one plaintive blog follower, not anxious to see foxes or chickens killed with her morning coffee, and hoping for some cute puppy shots. I understand. I smiled, not just now, my poor friend, not just now. Stories come when they come, I’m afraid, that is the nature of life also.

For me, this is about being clear. And be wary of me, good people, those of you who have been following my story for awhile know this, life turns on a dime. I give these creatures names, work  hard at taking lovely photographs of them, and then, bam, they are shot, missing, run over, stolen away by a fox, snatched by a hawk. The real world of real animals, I think, which is why I love it. Don’t get too attached to any of them. They are chickens, and they are living out their fate. A good friend e-mailed me that she was drawn up short by my line that chickens exist to be eaten, yet I know in my heart that this is so. What other purpose do these primal things serve?

Chickens are not really pets, although I love them sometimes, and others love them, but they are not too smart, not too complex. Many things eat them – dogs, foxes, ferrets, raccoons, weasels, minks, hawks and billions of people – and chickens are dumber than all of them. They are defenceless. For them, life is a minefield. They don’t even know enough to run. That is now nature works, that is the food chain. In the cities, in parts of the world where animals have become soulmates and children – this happens here too – this idea is jarring, disturbing. If I can prevent it, good, if I can’t, I accept it. Life itself.

The farmer is always in the middle. He fights for his humanity, because everything outside of his fences – dogs, deer, hawks, foxes, tractors, malls, people, legislators, animal rights advocates,  regulators, bureaucrats – is the enemy. I am not a farmer, but the farm has gotten into my head. This morning, on the hill, I saw my life passing in a way. Am I a writer? A photographer? A farmer? All of the above. The gun or the rifle. I am aware that men have problems with this killing stuff. Given a choice, they seem to often go with the rifle.The world is not a better place for that.  I think my wife would be happier if I got the camera instead. Can’t do it. The instinct to protect is as strong as the instinct to create. As long as these creatures are in my care, they deserve my vigilance and protection.

Rest assured that the fox will be back, and he will snatch up one of these colorful hens I am taking photos of, it’s almost a guarantee. One man’s art is another’s dinner. And one way or another, I can assure you, I will get him. I am just as smart and stubborn as he is, if not as agile or pretty.

I read Thoreau every morning. Be clear, he says. A self-determined life is about making decisions, and living with them. Respect yourself, says Hannah Arendt. It is not about what others would do, it is about what you would do.  If is not about approval, but self-respect.