The Dairy Syndicate: Part 1, The Diversion
- Sunny J Shores
- May 19
- 2 min read
Updated: Jun 20
I love cheese, but I’m incredibly picky about it. I can't stand eating the hard rind unless I'm tossing it into a pot for cooking, so on my very first morning at the farm, I found myself carefully slicing the hardened edges away from my breakfast.
Not wanting to waste it, I diced the rind into tiny, chicken-sized bites and tossed them out the door for the resident flock, one rooster and his three hens. They absolutely inhaled it. By morning number two, the routine was officially established. They knew the sound of my door, and they were ready for their gourmet dairy tax.
But by the third morning, things took a turn into full-blown farmyard psychology.
I had just finished dicing up the rinds when a massive, chaotic fuss erupted on the exact opposite side of the farm. The rooster was making an incredible racket, squawking and kicking up dust. I stood there listening, genuinely confused. Why on earth would they miss prime cheese time to cause a scene over there? I wondered.
A split second later, I got my answer.
Out of the brush, the rooster materialized at my cabin entirely alone. He didn't look back once. He bolted straight to the pile, frantically gobbled up every single piece of diced cheese himself, and vanished just as quickly as he arrived. A moment later, I could hear him crowing triumphantly from the far side of the yard, back with his flock.
It hit me right then: he wasn't sounding an alarm. He was running a deliberate interference play. He intentionally whipped his hens into a frenzy on the far side of the property just to shake them, giving himself a clear window to pull off a solo cheese heist.
The hens think he's a protector, but I know the truth, he's a dairy-obsessed mastermind running a solo operation. Look at him !! (re first photo above) He’s literally hiding in the brush right by the wood siding, looking like a tiny, feathered mob boss checking if the coast is clear.
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