F. W. Chesson                                                   File: ZOO.HTM
144 Fiske Street, 
Waterbury, CT  06710 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                            A DEATH AT THE PETTING ZOO 
                                        or 
                         The Case of the Curious Chutney 
 
                                        by 
                                   Fred Chesson 
 
     "Pecked to death!  This is indeed most foul play, Watson!" 
     I could not help but agree with Holmes, no matter whether f-o-u-l or 
f-o-w-l was his intent. The death scene was Clairborne's Canberra Carnival, 
with its popular petting zoo of mainly Australian animals. The show had 
arrived at our annual bucolic holiday in tiny Hurly-cum-Burly a few days 
previous. 
     Now, barely having finished our breakfast kippers, the local police 
force, in the personage of Constable Bloater, was at the door of our rustic 
cottage, "Seepage Gardens," respectfully requesting assistance. 
     Holmes was, of course, most interested in this novel village violence, 
and we at once repaired to the tents on the town green.  Here lay the victim, 
one Simon Vole, nephew of the proprietor and manager of the zoo. 
     The suspects, in whose pen the body had been found, were Emma the Emu,
Rita the Rhea and Ollie the Ostrich. All of the large, flightless birds now
presented the most amiable temperament. 
     "Really im-peck-able, they always 'as been, sir!" assured Sidney, their  
keeper. "Even to the brattiest of kiddies."  He then favored us with a most 
un-subtle wink and jerked his thumb at the deceased laid out by the enclosure
gate.  "'Course, now, ol' Simon 'ere could provoke just about anyone...or
thing, when he's 'ad few belts under the old belt, if you knows what I means,
moit?" 
     "Quite so," Holmes assented. "I have studied many varieties of Her Serene 
Majesty's English, including such exotic dialects as Brooklynese and your own 
distinctive 'Stroin,' which I submit is from the environs of Brisbane." 
     "Bli'me!"  Sidney and Bloater nodded in wonderment.               
     "I have also had occasion to study the habits and habitats of the birds  
now before us."  He bent to reexamine the body and turned to me. "It was your
initial medical opinion, Watson, that pecking was not in itself the immediate 
cause of death?" 
     "Indeed. The impacts were rather superficial," I opined.  "But Mr. Vole
was already dangerously close to heart failure or apoplexy from excessive
drink."
     "Just anything could have put him over the edge, sir!" Sidney nodded
vigorously. "Everyone in the show knew he was ready to buy the farm."  
     "Indeed. But now observe, please."  Holmes stood and pointed.  "Notice
the pattern of beak indentations about the deceased's breast pocket area." 
     "Why, it's as if he were carrying something that them birds were really 
mad after," said Bloater, with commendable forensic insight. 
     "Precisely!" I nodded.  "But whatever could it have been?"  
     Holmes held up his index finger and sniffed.  "Ah, ha! If my culinary 
senses are still acute, this can only be the residue of a once-liberally 
applied application of Colonel Chomondley's Own Chutney!" 
     "Never 'ard of it! And I does admire a good chutney," the rotund officer 
opined. He pointed at the local pub across the Green. "The GALLOWS & GIBBET 
over there puts out a most fine product, if I do say so myself!" 
     "That recipe I did not sample for my definitive monograph of six years 
ago," Holmes admitted. "Yet chutney is indeed the decisive clue in this case."
     "But, dash it all," I protested, "how could any bird be so attracted to 
such an exotic condiment?" 
     "Obviously, by Classical Pavlovian Conditioning!  Namely, by having its 
favorite morsels more and more slavered with the Colonel's rich chutney...
until...." And now Holmes smiled grimly.  "Until, the mere presence of its 
aroma could trigger even the most docile creature into a veritable feeding 
frenzy!" 
     "A pecking panic!" I exclaimed.  "Diabolical!" 
     "Especially so, when the victim was already stupefied by drink. This was 
no accident, no matter how bizarre!"  Holmes pointed an implacable finger at 
the now-sweating keeper. "Is that not true, sir?"  
     "Kangaroo cookies!" Sidney blustered. "Them birds all knew that Simon 
was going to sell them to Colonel Sandhurst's Kentish Fricasseed Fowl, at 
the tour's end next week, so they was only acting in self defence." 
     "A commendable supposition, though not entirely supported by the
evidence." Holmes pointed at the avian suspects, who were regarding the 
proceedings alertly.  "Observe the difference in size, from ostrich down to 
rhea. Yet the pecking marks are grouped mainly at one height on the victim's 
anatomy.  Hence, only one bird was the principle assailant." 
     His finger now leveled on the keeper. "Am I closer to the truth, sir?"
     "Aye, 'tis true, Guv."  Sidney slowly nodded. "It was bad enough, when 
I learnt that Vole was going to sack me after all me years of service.  But 
then, to go and sell me pals here for fast-food, just to have more liquor 
money...!" He nodded stolidly. "I knew right then, 'twas him or us." 
     "So you trained one of the birds to go for the chutney," Bloater demanded.
"But which one?" 
     "Why, the only one native to Sidney's homeland!"  And Holmes waved his 
finger over the fence.  At once, one of the trio lunged for the digit, like a 
rook snatching a plump earthworm from a dewy manor lawn. 
     "Emma the Emu...!"  
     Sidney put his arms around the now placid bird, whose long eyelashes
fairly radiated appeal.  "Old Simon got real snozzled at the pub last night, 
as usual. So on the way back here, while I was keeping him on his feet, I 
rubbed all the chutney I had left on his chest. And then he goes into the pen 
to feel up Emma's drum-sticks, and natter about what tasty bits Sandhurst will
make of her. And then he bloody laughs in my face, like he does whenever he's 
tight." 
     "Dashed poor taste of him!" I exclaimed. 
     "What a rotter!" Bloater pointed. "He most surely deserved what happened
next!" 
     "Aye, sir."  Sidney stroked Emma's neck, to her obvious approval.  "So
when she properly goes for the chutney on 'im, he's too sloshed to save his
bloody hide, and the next thing his boozy ol' ticker packs it in!" He sighed
heavily. "Why, even old Clairborne would have marked it down to Vole's bloody
temper getting the best of 'im once too often!" He shrugged. "Ah, well...I'm
still glad I done it for me pals 'ere...." And he held out his wrists for the
iron embrace of the constable's Darby manacles. "But please don't send poor 
ol' Emma off to the butcher's," he pleaded tearfully. "She's just an innocent
tool...and all them kiddies loves her dearly!" 
     "Including my three!" Bloater blew his nose expressively. "I would have
done the same thing, in your shoes!" 
     I nodded a vigorous endorsement, and turned to Holmes, who now smiled 
benignly. 
     "Indeed, doctor! I submit, that because the good colonel's chutney is 
not exported, and with the last of the alleged evidence having been consumed,  
securing a conviction might well be attended to with no little difficulty!" 
     "Why, Magistrate Morgan would dismiss all charges at once!"  Bloater 
replaced the handcuffs on his belt and pointed at the deceased. "The late 
Simon Vole was obviously the victim of his own vicious nature." He raised
an imperious finger.  "Why, had the wretch lived, I would have arrested him 
on the spot, for First Degree Cruelty to Creatures!" 
     Sidney mopped his face with relief and shook Bloater's hand. "Bring your 
nippers around and I'll get them a private session with the birds, with free 
photos, too!"  He turned to Holmes. "With me pals 'ere safe, I am a new man, 
thanks to you, sir!  What ever can I possibly do to...?"     
     "But one small service, sir, Homes responded. "You may join us in a test
of that local chutney so praised by our good constable, and thus help up-date 
my monograph."
     "Capital!" I approved. "But with what entre shall we consume it?" 
     "I suggest in the company of a more familiar domestic fowl. In this case,
a well-roasted village grey goose!" Holmes said, expressing the most obvious
...relish.... 
   
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