Greetings.
This missive marks a brief departure from my usual focus on practical matters at the Patch. For the Patch Translation Project to succeed, it is truly essential that you gain an expanded comprehension of the theoretical underpinnings of my work, so I seize upon this moment to introduce a topic that will certainly tax your limited cognitive skills.
In general, Feeders carry an erroneous belief about animals, often holding the offensive position that humans are the only life forms capable of speech or complex thought. Please do not feel disheartened by this deficiency in your thinking, as members of the animal and plant kingdoms recognize your limitations and feel genuine sympathy for your intellectual shortcomings.
In truth, non-human animals utilize nuanced and varied methods of communication, most of which are beyond the limited realm of so-called “speech.” I will present just a few examples here to demonstrate the hypocrisy and uninformed nature of your position, believing that you might be in a position to share these insights with other like-minded Feeders.
First, a definition. It is commonly agreed that “genuine language include[es] syntactics, jokes, lies, and disinterested or aesthetic observation.”[1] (As an aside, note my recently acquired skills of citation, although I am currently proficient in the Chicago Style only.) Despite the common disparagement of animal communication, there are a great many humans who fail to meet this definition of language. I refer you to the hordes of humans that you mutter on about, mutely slumped in front of their devices, unable to perform basic observation of the weather outside, or even sufficiently coherent to converse with one another.
Second, some observations. If you were to dedicate but a few moments of thoughtful observation while sitting in the pig yard, you could see multiple examples of higher order thinking, language, and complex interaction. For example, if language requires syntactical comprehension, my rudimentary documentation of the grammar of chickens substantiates just such a detailed language system, as well as the commitment of chickens to the construction of participial phrasing.[2]
Animals – with the exception of some rather brutish dogs – are forever a jolly lot, making light of difficult situations, pulling pranks, and making jokes. You yourself have pointed out the humor in Wilma’s attempts to take your knees out, or to lap the other sows in her circles of the farrowing hut. In fact, you as Feeder are one of the most frequent sources of mirth amongst the pigs, as your tripping, spilling, or otherwise uncoordinated efforts at dispensing food provide a host of opportunities for snide pig jokes and comments about your competence as Feeder. To assist you in recognizing these moments of humor, note that the snorting rumbles you often associate with porcine hunger are more often pig chuckles.
Animals are capable of deception, and some are even consistent liars. For example, Cliff the Rooster (nlwu – farmstead shorthand for “no longer with us,” usually due to a predator or the Feeder’s axe) fabricated his repeated refrain – “I am the best-looking thing ever. See my stunning tail feathers. I will rule the wor-rold.” The Other Rooster (also nlwu, not with us even long enough to get a name) was similarly dishonest, and would face off with Cliff and crow: “No, I am the best looking thing ever. See my stunning tail feathers. I will rule the wor-rold.”
You can see, then, that animal languages contain ample evidence of syntactics, jokes, and lies. I need only reference myself as proof of disinterest. I find Feeders to be nearly as monotonous and limited as dogs, and demonstrate my typical disdain through the use of the “middle-distance stare,” a common cat technique we employ to indicate how very little we really care about anything Feeders might do…other than feed us. It is only my passion for linguistics that motivates these many dispatches that I labor over, in service to my reading public.
Strangely, and despite such evidence as I have compiled above, Feeders seem to retain a primordial need to believe in human uniqueness. However, residing in the presence of animals other than themselves, spending but a few moments observing animals, or activating the limited human senses, even if only in a cursory fashion, clearly demonstrates the wide range of animal emotions, from highest joy to terrifying fear. If you doubt the existence of animal ecstasy, simply observe Pudge’s rapturous response to roast beets.
It is upon these theoretical foundations that the Patch Translation Project is based. Take heed, as you Feeders might learn something.
In sorrow at your limitations and with hope in your potential,
Henry
[1] Ursula K. Le Guin, Dancing at the Edge of the World: Thoughts on Words, Women, Places, 1989, p. 294.
[2] It is with great joy that I put my citation skills to use in referencing none other than my own scholarly work on the linguistical flourishes of fowl, which can be found in Henry the Self-Satisfied (4) and Henry the Conflict-Averse (6).
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