然后他们来抓鸵鸟了

Poultry and paranoia in the Great White North By J. B. MacKinnon It was mid-September by the time I turned off a rural highway near Edgewood, British Columbia, and onto the short dirt road to Universal Ostrich Farms. The morning was hot and, to the south, beyond a rustic gatehouse, I could see a sleepy protest camp where early risers were smoking the day’s first cigarettes among the scattered tents and RVs. To the north, behind tall wire fencing and quarantine tape, were several hundred ostriches. Caterpillar-browed and effusively eyelashed, they chased one another with the bent-legged gait known as “Groucho running.” Any time now, federal agents were expected to roll up and exterminate them all. …