“The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” – Mahatma Gandhi
I frequently talk to my animals. I mainly talk to the alpacas, but I also talk to the chickens and Robin.
I think Robin understands but he doesn’t really care. He always lands there, next to me, very suddenly and he just wants to know what I’m doing. When he figures it out, he leaves and in the short distance he gets lost in the branches or round a corner.
The chickens ask for treats. They want extra corn, but not the one from the feeder.
They ask with clucking sounds and walk with stress along the wire begging for that something they want from me. I walk all the way to the barn and get a handful of their grain. When I’m coming back they lock on my fist closed, they know I’m bringing something in my hand, and they start flapping and moving their heads in this hysterical way that urges me to hurry in case they really are in need. I open the little gate and two of them always come for a pat on their backs. I oblige and greet them, and stroke the soft feathers for as long as they let me, maybe a couple of seconds. I spread the handful of corn on the ground, and as they desperately fight and peck each other like starved beasts, I collect the eggs, make sure there’s enough water left and find out the feeder is full to the rim, it opens with ease and they really didn’t need to make such a fuss. The corn from my hand tastes obviously better than the one in the feeder.
They also are multilingual. But I prefer Spanish for the alpacas, as they obviously carry a language gene that helps them understand it better than English. Same reasoning as the corn issue above.
And as it is about languages, my two young ones are Quechua and Aymara, and I hope they can understand each other as I cannot be sure about how to speak either of them.
Before I forget, I frequently talk to my plants too. In case you wanted to know.
Kestle Alpacas 