An Orwellian Metamorphosis

On Tuesday mornings it's my job to feed the animals at my parents' house. They have four sheep (we just sold twelve!), a rooster, three hens and a dog. The dog eats chicken breast my mom cooks in the pressure cooker. She lives in the house and feels strongly she is above all the other animals. It makes her so angry when I feed the "lesser beasts."
When we first got the sheep and before we had the hens, it was just Rusty the Rooster hanging out in our field. And before I figured out how to solve the problem by feeding the sheep their hay first, they always tried to eat Rusty's chicken scratch. It made me so mad, and I was worried he'd waste away. When I fed the lambs first, they'd leave Rusty alone long enough to get some grain and everyone was happy.
That is, until my dad brought home three little hens to, um, keep Rusty company. But I guess he's been alone too long and is getting old and grumpy because now that the sheep are off doing their own thing, Rusty chases the hens away and doesn't let them eat until he's finished. It's all very rude. He's turning into a pig on two legs. I've told him there's no room for chauvinism in the backyard, but he's so prideful. Doesn't he remember that not long ago he was scrambling for any attention at all?
Rusty has taught me a valuable lesson-- and strengthened the resolve of an epiphany I had last night. I kind of remembered it wasn't that long ago when my life was different, and I don't want to turn into a bipedal pig just because things are kind of going my way.
And finally, a moment for Artie. Artie, my scorpion, is now dead. It would be easy to blame him for coming into my house in the first place. My initial attitude was that it served him right, as the whole thing was his fault. But Hahni was right. I could have turned him loose and saved his life. Hopefully the other Artie in my life, and my relationship with him, fare better.