Is it me, or are chickens just amazing? A couple of weeks ago I came home from work to find darling hubby giggling with excitement: we had four eggs! Four! We'd decided that they probably wouldn't start laying until Spring, so we hadn't checked them for a couple of days. Four eggs! We didn't even have to fight over who got to eat the first egg! (and no, we can't share. I have my yolks runny (as fresh, free-range eggs should be served)
mmmmmmmm....... eggs on toast......
but Hubby is a child of the Edwina Currie generation and has his hard boiled for 12 minutes until they're like rubber bullets. Philistine!
Attila is not amused.
(Mental note: take pictures of chickens in daylight rather than at night with flash, to stop them looking like devil hens).
New chicken residence, constructed by ourselves: the eglu has been moved to a permanent site on a 6-inch bed of bark chippings, owing to the ability of 2 small hens to turn our back garden into something resembling the Somme...
The path we laid yesterday in a sudden unexpected bout of energy, having had 3 tonnes of stone chippings delivered onto the front drive. My car now lives across the street until we use up the other tonne and a half!
Willow and the chickens have now reached a mutual understanding. She doesn't chase, and they don't peck.
What you can't tell here is that darling hubby is going 'Ow! Ow! Attila! Will you stop that? That's my hand!......' They don't really do gentle pecking. They do love corn.
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