Fowl play in Europe

Now, not only do they have the dreaded bird flu to contend with — who came up with the moniker "bird flu" anyway? Did someone see a pheasant coughing into a silk handkerchief or a dove rubbing himself with Vicks?

Anyway, not only do they have the dreaded bird flu to contend with, those that manage to escape getting the flu find themselves being slaughtered anyway and suffering the ignoble experience of being buried in a plastic bag after being manhandled by what looks like Neil Armstrong back in his "one small step for man, one giant step for mankind" days.

Every night newscasters come on air eager to inject a bit more fear into an already apprehensive nation. They try to be sombre — it is, after all, bad news they’re breaking — but they can’t disguise the twinkle in their eyes as they contemplate the ratings they’re getting or the journalism award they may win when the story breaks big and millions start dying like flies from the expected pandemic.

So the countdown is on. One night we’re told the virus may be in Romania, next night, yes, it is in Romania. Afternoon news flash announces a suspected case in Turkey as dead birds are found in the countryside. By night time they happily announce that yes, it is bird flu and government and medical officials have stocked up on Tamiflu tablets and vaccines but none for you, heheheh!

"The public is being urged to be on the lookout for birds whose deaths they believe to be suspicious," they tell us. In other words, look out for fowl play. What exactly constitutes foul play for a bird anyway? A drug overdose? Being shot in the back? Drowning? And who determines whether or not a bird has died under suspicious circumstances? Is there an avian CSI? CSI Sky, perhaps.

And now, a parrot in England has died of bird flu. So various media houses have reported that bird flu has arrived here. Not so, say authorities. The bird was in quarantine so technically speaking it did not die in England so, technically speaking again, bird flu has not yet reached our shores. Uh huh. Because the parrot was in quarantine somewhere up in the troposphere of course. In the lengths government goes to to save its skin, it consistently shows no qualms about risking ours, regardless of whether it is a First World superpower or a Third World dictatorship.

Perhaps this bird flu is revenge for all the years of frying, baking, stewing, roasting and barbecuing that our fine feathered friends turned foes have been subjected to. Chickens brought into the world for the sole purpose of producing young that they will never see grow up or even hatch for that matter, robbed daily of the chance to become grandparents. Maybe the ducks are seeking vengeance for all the roasts their families have ended up in, the Peking catastrophe. If that is true then Trinidad has to look out.

Because who likes chicken more than a Trini? Rumour has it that KFC Independence Square is the jewel in the franchise’s crown, with the highest box of dead consumption in the world. And no Trinidadian riverbank has escaped witnessing the mass slaughter of ducks in preparation for a wicked curry. Even our so called protected species have not escaped with the scarlet ibis being declared a delicious stew if a bit stringy and the cocrico said to have a taste similar to yard fowl. I remember reading a magazine story about the tastiness of pelican. "Tastes like chicken", the author assured, then proceeded to end the article with a recipe for its preparation and consumption (serve with white wine or a cold Carib).

Meanwhile, back on this side of the world, they’re killing birds left, right and centre — culling is the word they prefer. There is a sense of urgency and uneasiness that I’ve never experienced before. I know back home there is none of this going on, no sense that it’s the end of the world, that the average Trini back home is watching the reports on TV and, gesticulating angrily at the screen, saying, "But look at all that good fowl they wasting! These people eh betting they happy yes."

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