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The New Girls

The New Girls

This is a happy update on my last post. After the fox visited we set about reinforcing the chicken run. We could have given up, but we’ve come a long way down the chicken keeping road and the garden seemed terribly quiet without them. So, the run is now the poultry equivalent of Fort Knox and today we’ve picked up four hens, courtesy of the British Hen Welfare trust.

Apologies for rubbishy phone pic but here they are; (L-R) Betsy, Henrietta, Camilla and (front) Winny.

They were rescued from a caged farm in Preston this morning, and have travelled down to Allesley near Coventry for rehoming. Bit of a mare of a day for them but a million trillion times better than the slaughter wagon!


Just poppy-ed in…

Just poppy-ed in...

About time I got the blog off the ground again, I thought. I was shocked to find it had been over two years since the last post though! To kick-start myself I’ve had a little re-vamp and allowed myself the freedom of some random musings. Here are my ten for today:

How do bumble bees get their butts off the ground?
When my cat plays with an elastic band, what does he think it is?
Why aren’t poached eggs more predictable?
Why aren’t healthy foods the nicest tasting?
Why is it that when you’ve emptied the laundry basket there’s always still a sock/tshirt/teatowel to be discovered somewhere to start the next load?
Why are apostrophes so hard to understand?
Why do you always fancy food you didn’t buy at the supermarket when you’re planning the evening meal from the 101 choices in the freezer?
Does Father Christmas shave off his beard in the summer?
Who knows where the time goes?
Why is it always so hard to think of a tenth thing?

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