Old Mr. Dunphy used to keep a nice cow in the meadow. His neighbours talked about that cow all summer long. "Now there's a beautiful animal," they'd say. When Mr. Dunphy's cow was taken to the butcher, his neighbours rushed to get in line. Everyone wanted a nice piece of Bessy for their Sunday table.

Fresh eggs, ham, lamb in the spring and mutton in the fall, even wool for those who still spun it. Almost everyone had animals in this cove. They kept them for money and for pleasure.

The town has found these new laws hard to enforce. Farm animals keep creeping back in—a chicken here, a goat over there, a few geese along the road. The animals increase until someone complains. Then the town cracks down on the owners.

A few years ago the Memorial Day parade was the death of about a dozen pigs and sheep. The band came marching down the little road. Everyone was heading for the war memorial. The uniforms looked smart. The band was playing a cheerful tune. It was a splendid sight. As the parade passed the old lodge, it picked up a few new members. Mrs. King's pigs and sheep ran out of their shed and followed behind the band. They tagged along nicely, almost in single file. The crowd started to snicker. The parade came to a halt. The men in the band waved their arms and beat their drums. But the pigs and sheep kept coming. The animals followed right to the war memorial. They stayed until the service was done.

A few days later the Kings had too much pork and mutton. Mrs. King couldn't see what all the fuss was about. She said the animal laws seemed to be a nice substitute for a sense of humor.

And it's not just the animals. A few days ago I saw old Mr. Alan bring in a few cod off the water. That's illegal now. I didn't report him. I ran down to the wharf and he gave me a fish. I buy wood from young John. He has a permit to cut for his own house but he sells what he doesn't need around town. He gives some of the wood to his grandfather. It's all illegal.

What about Albert? I know he's on welfare right now. I also know he's painting Mr. Quinty's house. He's committing fraud right in front of his neighbours. Albert better not cross anyone, because that's a real problem. If you make someone angry and you've got a few chickens or you've got a few cod in the freezer, they've got something on you. This summer Mr. Jones warned me to stop complaining about the fence he is building across the old graveyard path. "You want to keep those turkeys, don't you?" is what he said.