The Deefield Convention

 

 

“Friends, this raging social whirl has swirled

   Round us since we began,

As to whether or not the Animal World

   Should include this fellow, Man.

Well, fish can fly and birds can swim;

   Only Man has the power to think.

Could this be why His every whim

   Has brought us to the brink?

Our native instincts serve us well,

   And keep us in good health;

But Man, his innate guide, would quell

   With ‘intellect,’ his ‘wealth.’

We don’t live life by learned rules,

   But by our beastly wits.

Man ‘lives’ by what he learns in schools

   In little abstract bits.

We’ve tried to come to terms with Man,

   Each time to no avail,

Just when we think we have a plan,

   Negotiations fail.

We’ve tried to live in peace with him

   From first days of our birth;

Yet our hope for friendship seems more dim

   Today through all the Earth.”

(Once more these old laments served Owl,

   To officially convene,

The Animal World’s Yearly Howl

   In Deerfield-on-the-Green.)

 

They came from near and far and round

   On migratory flights,

To invoke once more on hallowed ground

   Their ‘lower’ creatures’ rites.

Their hooves and paws and wings and claws

   Applauded with a roar,

As Owl said, “Let’s address our cause

   With comments from the floor.

To elaborate in cumbered rhyme

   I know you all must yearn.

Please be patient for, in numbered time,

   You all shall have your turn.

Each voice unique will have his say

   Before our parley’s done;

So give a ‘yea,’ let’s have a ‘neigh’

   From Speaker No.1.”

 

“He saddlebreaks me, feeds me hay;

   What can a poor Horse do?

He makes me gallop till I’m gray

   —Then turns me into glue!”

“He milks me dry, my cream He drinks,”

   Sobbed Mrs. Cow in moos.

“And when, in time, production sinks

   —Man turns me into shoes!”

 

“He thinks,” (and this did truly vex

   The Whyte Rhinocerous)

“My powdered horn improves His sex

   —It’s quite preposterous!”

“Well, horny rhino—lucky you!

   —Man sees the pot in us,

And thinks to smoke us—till we’re blue!”

   Wept Hippopotamus.

 

“He steals my precious ivory,

   A crime most relevant.

This is plain and pure deprivery,”

   Trumpeted now Elephant.

“Or else the ‘Big-Top’ is my fate,

   I’m too HUGE for a pet.

I may forgive (I cannot hate)

   —But I do not forget!

He works me like a slave each day,

   Why, Friends—I must be nuts!

And my paltry pay? You guessed it—hay!

   And…ah, ah, ah-h-h-h-h…peaNUTS!

(His mammoth, nutty sneeze

   Provoked a long and lasting howl.)

“Dear Comrades, please! maintain your ease.

   God bless you, sir!” said Owl.

 

The sun rose up that morn in May

   In Deerfield-on-the-Green;

Sweet zephyrs blew, the mood was gay,

   The sky was blue, serene.

It was a Passion Play in many acts,

   A tragi-comic scene,

As the players, all, portrayed the facts

   (Alleged) upon the green.

 

Now Brother Dog barked from the floor,

   His Master to defend.

“Man’s very kind to me—what’s more,

   He keeps me till the end.

He feeds me, pets me, walks me too;

   On Him I can depend

—To treat me like a dog—owoo-o-o!

   Because I’m Man’s best friend.”

 

Mewed common Cat, “Man strokes my fur;

   My way I always get.

He never treats me like a cur

   —Yes I’m his pampered pet!

Likes me ever in his company,

   His favorite round-the-houser

—And in his Humane Society

   The hour I prove no mouser.”

 

“That’s fine for you two!” Tiger whined,

   “You chosen ones can’t lose.

But He makes rugs of us—we find

   Ourselves—O Lord!—in zoos!”

Now Leopard snarled, “My problems stem

   From all Man’s fur-brained plots.

If I wasn’t so attached to them,

   —I’d change my wonted spots.”

As ‘King of Beasts,’” now Lion roared,

   “It stings me deep inside,

That, as Monarch, I’m not more adored 

   —It really hurts my pride!

Not all enjoy Cat’s cushy perch;

   Not all beasts does Man keep:

The unlucky suffer Man’s research,

   —The blessed are put to sleep!”

 

“I’m only bacon, chops—and ham,”

   Squealed Pig, “and sausage links;

That I’m a clever pet—I am!—

   Of this Man never thinks.”

“I’m quite a lovely pet to groom,”

   “More lovely than a Lynx

—But when I put on Skunk perfume,

   My image, Man says—stinks!”

                 

“I beg your pardon, Lady Skunk,”

   Now Bob-Tailed Lynx did growl,

“If I’d your tail—or but a hunk,

   I’d really make Men howl.

I’d be twice as pretty, such a prize,

   More cuddly than two minks.”

These sighed, “But don’t you realize

   “—Being comely is a jinx?”

 

The sun smiled down that morn in May

   In Deerfield-on-the-Green,

But the presence there of Man that day

   Was nowhere to be seen.

It was a ‘Passion Play’ in many acts,

   A tragi-comic scene,

As the players, all, portrayed the facts

   (Alleged) upon the green.

 

Tom Turkey gobbled, “I love living;

   Growing old is nice.

But each November, come Thanksgiving 

   —I’m as co-old as ice.

Man strips me naked, fills my body 

   —Bread ’n’ spice ’n’ stuff.

Yes, I love living but—dear God!—

   He makes it mighty tough.”

“Then I’m defeathered come December,”

   Honked now Christmas Goose,

“And every time I do remember,

   I think, ‘What’s the use?’”

“Well, I’d gladly trade you places—free!

   Now common Chicken clucked,

“Each day’s a holiday for me

   —Buck-buck—I’m daily plucked!”

 

“For all my Buck skin Man confers

   On me no benison;

Yet too would have my trophied antlers,

   Tender venison.”

“Man covets me,” sighed sad-eyed Doe,

   “For all my soft doeskin,

Still softer, that of our…fawn—oh!

   —Our dearest Deerfield kin!”

 

Baaed Sheep, clean-shorn of all its wool,

   “Man shears me of my prize,

Just to knit a sweater, thus to pull

   My wool over His eyes.

He’s a Wolf in Sheep’s cloth, big and b-a-a-d, 

   That’s all I have to say.”

“To hear you say that makes me sad,”

   Is Wolf’s lamenting bay.

“The truth is I am much maligned;

   I’m really rather shy;

And must, because of justice blind,

   Notoriously die!”

 

Sly clever Fox yipped, “I’ll be brief.

   Our Man has lost His soul.

He steals my fur which, ohh, foul thief 

   —The nerve!—He calls a ‘stole.’”

 

“Man sticks my fine quills in His hair,

   To feather His own nest;

But I’d really rather keep them where

   They serve me well and best:

To cover, so I’m not impeached,

   Those zones remote and rare;

And feather my love-nest that’s reached

   Where only Eagles dare!”

 

“He takes me from the jungle where

   I’m really quite at home;

Then clips my pretty wings so there’s

   No way that I can roam.

He sticks me in a tiny cage

   —Then teaches me to swear;

I would cuss at Man in rage,”

   Squawked Parrot—“but I just don’t dare!”

 

The sun beat down upon the fray

   In Deerfield-on-the-Green,

But the presence there of Man that day

   Was nowhere to be seen.

It was a ‘Passion Play’ in many acts,

   A tragi-comic scene,

As the players, all, portrayed the facts

   (Alleged) upon the green.

 

A Chimpanzee turned backward flips,

   To trump its somersault.

“Man teaches me these silly trips

   —It’s really not my fault.

Orangutan, the ‘Forest Man’

   Was not to be outdone.

“I play my role as best I can

   —Where’s Camera No.1?”

“I’m the great and silver-backed ‘King Kong,’”

   Gorilla shrieked and cried,

“But the movie ended wrong 

   —For you can see I haven’t died!”

Two Apes, three Gibbons, one Baboon

   In unison did bawl,

“He’ll call us all fool primates soon 

   —Man makes us Monkeys—all!”

 

“A beast of burden’s all I am,”

   Is Donkey’s braying brass.

“He calls me stubborn just to slam

   Me, Burro—my whole class.”

“Half Horse, half Donkey Man bred me

   —A Mule!—a beastly mass!”

“I’d gladly so Mule-headed be,

   If you’d be me—an Ass!”

 

Then from the reptile class, a bellow,

   “Neighbors, what is worse:

To be belt or luggage or—alas! 

   An Alligator purse?”

Close cousin Cayman cried, “The thought

 I may not grow too old,

Makes me shiver—all I’ve got

   —And all the more my blood run cold.”

Their relation croaked, jaws opened wide,

   Then echoed all their fears:

“I’m afraid when I have died 

   —He’ll just cry Crocodile tears!”

Snake-in-the-grass hissed, “I must fight

   To save my hatband skin.

Man blames me for my frightful bite

    —But it’s just adrenalin!”

 

The sun now setting, all did pray

   In Deerfield-on-the-Green;

Still, the presence there of Man that day,

   Was nowhere to be seen.

It was a ‘Passion Play’ in many acts,

   A tragi-comic scene,

As the players, all, portrayed the facts

   (Alleged) upon the green.

 

 

And so from north, south, west, and east

   Came forth and testified,

Every wingéd, leggéd, writhing beast

   From every precinct wide.

One by one in unleashed founts

   They told of tears they’d cried,

Gave, one by one, their pained accounts,

   No grievance would they hide.

Yet harmony and peace held sway

   In Deerfield-on-the-Green,

For the presence there of Man that day

   Was nowhere to be seen.

 

“O Brothers, Sisters, Neighbors—all”

   (Wise Owl’s most solemn hoot),

“The question is a judgment call:

   Man’s brotherhood is moot.

You’ve raised your varied voices

   And it seems we can’t dispute:

The concensus of your choices

   Is that Man is yet a brute.

His charities do not delude,

   Nor do they mollify;

Again this year we must conclude:

   Man does not qualify.

 

“And so, Dear Friends, another year

   Has come and gone in strife;

But from the breast hope springs eternal

   Where there yet breathes life.

So let us not despair but rather

   Lift our hopes up high;

That Man and beast shall one day gather

   Neath the open sky.

Oh, let us pray when next year ends,

   Man’s presence will be seen;

When once again we meet, as friends,

   In Deerfield-on-the-Green.”