March is here and so are the hens
It was my birthday last week and I was gifted a chicken house with two beautiful Colombian black tail hens, Porridge and Marmalade. After phoning the children in sick off school we spent the morning building the chicken house. Atlas coloured in the instructions for us and Inca passed us the number 3 bolts whilst she {with hot pink cheeks} hunted around for the number 5 screws we would need next that she may or may not have misplaced amongst the grass cuttings in her excitement. I can’t blame her. I was like a child myself, ‘Our first pet’ I kept saying, ‘I can’t wait to go and get them’, ‘We can make Atlas’s birthday cake with our own eggs.’
After a picnic lunch, thank you March, we hopped in the truck and drove over the Bodmin moors along the start of the River Fowey to the most beautifully remote farm. Once we had ushered the cattle out of the way, we trundled up the path to the farmhouse with the farmer’s son to pick up our girls. His mother, who supplies the chickens had popped out and so he briefly talked us through the do’s and dont’s. We sheepishly produced a small KP nuts box that we had hurriedly retrieved from the petrol station on the way when we realised we hadn’t got anywhere for them to sit. He quite rightly affirmed it might be on the smaller side, ‘they’ll be alright in the back of yer truck, might be a few presents when you open her back up’.
We popped Porridge in the box and wedged her between the children on the back seat with her head stuck out of the top pecking at Inca’s little fingers, much to the amusement of Atlas who counted every time she opened her mouth and told us how hungry she must be because she’s opened her mouth 36 times already. He’s a natural chicken breeder our boy.
Marmalade sat on my lap for the journey home, she tucked her head under my arm and quickly fell asleep whilst I held her tightly and tickled the back of her neck. Oh so happy, this is what I’ve dreamed of for so many years. A mad old lady driving along the moors with a chicken on her lap, two beautiful children in the back laughing away about tales of how chickens poop and a partner who gifted me the kindest, most thoughtful gift I could’ve asked for. A day all together not working {not something that happens very often} carrying chickens, eating cake and enjoying our garden. Apparently the delivery man scoffed at the sensible one when the chicken house arrived and he told him it was for my birthday, ‘christ, you’re a romantic aren’t you?!’ he said. Little did he know that gift is the start of a very special thing for our family, the start of self sufficiency, mornings spent in pyjamas and wellies grabbing the girls, sprinkling their mash, Inca endlessly checking for eggs. What a lucky girl I am Mr. Delivery driver and thank you to the sensible one for the most romantic gift this girl could ask for.