The farmer two hills over is harvesting his potatoes. To keep the crows from puncturing his spuds, which, from what I’m told, renders them useless, he’s operating a mechanical popper. Every–let me time this so I can be accurate–37 seconds, we hear the sound of his “gun” going off.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
It’s as if a holiday dinner has gone bad and Cousin Jimmy is killing off offending family members one by one because he’s having flashbacks of Nam.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
24 freaking hours a day.
It’s really quiet out here in the Irish countryside. The only other ambient noise: the herd of cows sauntering by twice a day on their way to be milked. Every once in awhile, one of them lets off a moo. Ben, the border collie who shepherds them, on the other hand, is as silent as a tomb.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Of course, I’m reminded of that Billy Collins poem about the barking dog, Another Reason I Don’t Keep a Gun in the House. I found a wonderful enactment of the poem by a student film maker that I wanted to share with you right now. I hope you enjoy it.
There it goes again. Pop. Pop. Pop.
