Just Down the Road

 The ostrich pecked at my sweatshirt hood. It was a little bolder than the others surrounding me, all warning that I was at the bottom of the pecking order. Mr. R and their owner, both large men, were not treated with such disrespect. I had gotten into this situation unwillingly after being assured the fifty or so feathered monsters in the enclosure were harmless juveniles. Some babies! 

 Mr. R had asked me to go with him to buy some used tractor tires and rims. 
 On the way he announced he had planned a nice surprise. Since surprises are infrequent around here, I figured it might be something great. Maybe a riding lawnmower that didn't always break down, another calf hutch for the goats, a replacement for the young ginkgo tree Junior claimed he hadn't destroyed, or some other item on my wish list.

 The back roads were not familiar and he was evasive about where we were going. At our destination, a man approached and welcomed us to his ostrich farm. 
 I'm interested in alternative agricultural initiatives and brainstorming can be interesting: when milking cows isn't worth the effort, start a fish farm, raise elk, or grow exotic mushrooms; when the egg market goes sour, raise rabbits, meat goats, mink, or alligators (only practical in warm climates or when geothermal energy is available). 

 The ostrich breeding barn contained choice males and females separately penned. We were warned to stay back since adult ostriches have a tendency to kick.

  I don't remember if their huge eggs had been collected for artificial incubation or left in some sort of nest. Most emu farmers use a huge electric incubator. If the eggs are regularly taken away, leaving just enough to keep the female interested in laying, there should be a greater number of eggs produced with the possibility of a more successful hatch.

 The farmer showed us some frozen ostrich meat, which is low in fat, high in protein, and supposedly very tasty. I would have bought some but Mr. R's look conveyed "Don't you dare!"  We then went to the secluded outdoor juvenile facility where most young ostriches are finished for meat. With selective breeding, the best are kept for the continuation of the species. I would have been content to stay outside the enclosure but wound up in the midst of what (from a distance) could have been mistaken for a flock of prehistoric raptors ganging up on a grandmother. I don't remember when I've been more afraid of animals since the ram chased me across the pasture or the hogs attacked the Volkswagen.

 Mr. R's surprise was a surprise in more ways than one. His thoughtfulness was commendable, the visit memorable. I don't want to appear ungrateful, but the next time he takes me to see ostriches I hope it's on an African photo safari - there's no law against dreaming!