Chickens are Fowl

I had the romantic notion that keeping chickens would be a doddle - hardly any time involved, they'd sort of keep themselves. Well, that is sort of true apart from the fact I have fallen in love with my ten hens and spend inordinate amounts of time just watching them. I keep being rather pleased when one of the children doesn't eat their crusts at breakfast just so I have the excuse to feed the gaggle again! I am being repaid handsomely by the brood - an avarage of 9 eggs a day. What's more 9 eggs is more than we can eat daily, albeit we love eggs, however, it is an excuse to bake! Yey!!

Saw a fox the size of a Labrador yesterday - I was torn - on one hand what a treat to see such a splendid specimen- on the other I wanted to send him far far away so her wouldn't prey on my hens. I know I shouldn't have (especially as I can't tell one from the next yet) but, I named them: Henny penny, Chicken Licken, Large Marge, Hetty Feather, Bottomly Potts, Mary Poppins (who did have an issue with her vent which meant she was temporarily called Mary Popout), Pippy Longstocking, Muffin McLay, Aunt Spiker and Hunca Munca.

My children have made an official complaint - chicken poo on the lawn. 'Minnie me' (MM) has renamed her CROCS her poo shoes, and H cried when MM wore her Joules wellies to go outside as 'they'd be ruined'. I did point out that as the footwear causing meltdown were in fact washable and perfection could be reinstated pretty effortlessly it was not enough to placate? I have asked DH to erect a fence to create a chicken area and a child area. DH has too much on his plate as it is so I shall, until then, keep picking poo with my trusty rusty trowel and the chickens will remain 'foul' fowl.