Just the other day we were having a family debate about who last saw the Red Hen and when. I could not remember seeing her in a few weeks, neither could Grant. Will insisted he saw her a few days ago, but I didn't believe him. He has a habbit of saying the opposite to us, just because he likes to debate I think. (He gets that from his father...) Grant and I promptly concluded she had been eaten by a fox, or escaped and thought nothing more of it.
But the other day, when I was unwell with gastro, I found out otherwise. I have no idea why these things always happen when you least need them....
Henry rushed into my bedroom crying - "Ronnie is going to eat the baby chickens!"
Me - "Is the gate open?"
Henry - "No! Ronnie is going to eat them!"
Me (with all my motherly wisdom) - "Well if the gates not open he can't get in there."
Henry - "They are getting through the fence, quick!! There is lots of them!!"
Me (patiently explaining) - "Henry, there is only two, they cant get though the fence they are too big."
Henry - "Quick Ronnie is going to eat them, the lots of baby chickens!!"
Me - Gives up on bed rest, haules nauseous self out of bed, cradles bucket and stumbles outside feeling like I was going to die. (OK, I'm exaggerating a little....)
Where I find that Henry was infact, right. Ronnie is actually about to eat some baby chickens, LOTS of baby chickens. But not the big babies, there are a bunch of new tiny day old chicks that are running back and forth through the timber lattice. Where Ronnies nose is pressed up ready to catch one next time it pops through onto HIS side. Turns out Will was right, he probrably had seen her. She had simply been hiding so well that we had failed to find her.
Me - "Oh shit, there are baby chickens. RONNIE!!!!!"
I quickly sent Henry inside with Aggie. I then tried to haul Ronnie by the collar away from his tasty snack....instantly realizing he had slipped his collar AGAIN and I had nothing to hold onto....The stubborn dog REFUSED to leave his post despite enthusiastic calling, then scolding. I briefly considered dragging him away by his fur, but quickly decided that would be cruel. So I did the only thing left. I put down my bucket, cursing under my breath and picked him up. All 20kg of Boarder Collie. I lugged him to the laundry so I could keep him out of the way. My head was pounding and my stomach churning. The second I got him in, he made a mad dash to escape and I fell to my knees trying to force him back through the door. With one hand pushing on him, the other trying to close the door without shutting it on his nose. I was, at this stage swearing under my breath, feeling rather seedy.
Next I called our old Labrador Tess who happliy trotted over and I gently closed her in the bathroom. Tessa, the good one, is MY dog. She actually listens. (Fancy that...)
I returned to the chook yard where tried to capture the little chicks. They took great delight in popping back and forth through the fence, making the job as difficult as they could. Lucky they were cute. Eventually I caught them and popped them in a basket. I secured them in the chook shed so they were safe. Then I grabbed an empty milk crate and popped it over a very cranky Mother Hen, slid some mesh under her and safely transported her to be with her babies. Thank goodness I got them all. I filled up the chick feeder and water feeder and closed up the shed tight.
As I brushed myself off I wondered to myself....Why does this stuff always happen when Grant's not home?! I mean seriously..... *rolls eyes*
I let the dogs loose and good old Tess wandered out completly un-fussed. Ronnie ran straight back to the fence, dissapointed his self serve snack was no where to be found.
Some days, hey?
When I rang Grant to tell him later, he of course thought the entire situation was completly hilarious. Which in hindsight it may have been. Though I do wonder if the old neighbours next door were watching through their kitchen window, which has a beautifully clear and un-obstructed view into our yard now the lean-to is down.
Mother hen and her chicks. Two red, and two yellow. She is a hyline so the yellow chicks are roosters and the red will be hens.
Aggie is getting big! She stole Ronnies bone here, doesn't she look proud?
Ronnie, however looks a little puzzled as to what exaclty happened and how he got pipped from "Top Dog" by this little black bear.
The back yeard is a mess, though we are lookfing forward to a jumbo bonfire this winter! I look forward to the new foundation to be layed in a few weeks.
Much love,
But the other day, when I was unwell with gastro, I found out otherwise. I have no idea why these things always happen when you least need them....
Henry rushed into my bedroom crying - "Ronnie is going to eat the baby chickens!"
Me - "Is the gate open?"
Henry - "No! Ronnie is going to eat them!"
Me (with all my motherly wisdom) - "Well if the gates not open he can't get in there."
Henry - "They are getting through the fence, quick!! There is lots of them!!"
Me (patiently explaining) - "Henry, there is only two, they cant get though the fence they are too big."
Henry - "Quick Ronnie is going to eat them, the lots of baby chickens!!"
Me - Gives up on bed rest, haules nauseous self out of bed, cradles bucket and stumbles outside feeling like I was going to die. (OK, I'm exaggerating a little....)
Where I find that Henry was infact, right. Ronnie is actually about to eat some baby chickens, LOTS of baby chickens. But not the big babies, there are a bunch of new tiny day old chicks that are running back and forth through the timber lattice. Where Ronnies nose is pressed up ready to catch one next time it pops through onto HIS side. Turns out Will was right, he probrably had seen her. She had simply been hiding so well that we had failed to find her.
Me - "Oh shit, there are baby chickens. RONNIE!!!!!"
I quickly sent Henry inside with Aggie. I then tried to haul Ronnie by the collar away from his tasty snack....instantly realizing he had slipped his collar AGAIN and I had nothing to hold onto....The stubborn dog REFUSED to leave his post despite enthusiastic calling, then scolding. I briefly considered dragging him away by his fur, but quickly decided that would be cruel. So I did the only thing left. I put down my bucket, cursing under my breath and picked him up. All 20kg of Boarder Collie. I lugged him to the laundry so I could keep him out of the way. My head was pounding and my stomach churning. The second I got him in, he made a mad dash to escape and I fell to my knees trying to force him back through the door. With one hand pushing on him, the other trying to close the door without shutting it on his nose. I was, at this stage swearing under my breath, feeling rather seedy.
Next I called our old Labrador Tess who happliy trotted over and I gently closed her in the bathroom. Tessa, the good one, is MY dog. She actually listens. (Fancy that...)
I returned to the chook yard where tried to capture the little chicks. They took great delight in popping back and forth through the fence, making the job as difficult as they could. Lucky they were cute. Eventually I caught them and popped them in a basket. I secured them in the chook shed so they were safe. Then I grabbed an empty milk crate and popped it over a very cranky Mother Hen, slid some mesh under her and safely transported her to be with her babies. Thank goodness I got them all. I filled up the chick feeder and water feeder and closed up the shed tight.
As I brushed myself off I wondered to myself....Why does this stuff always happen when Grant's not home?! I mean seriously..... *rolls eyes*
I let the dogs loose and good old Tess wandered out completly un-fussed. Ronnie ran straight back to the fence, dissapointed his self serve snack was no where to be found.
Some days, hey?
When I rang Grant to tell him later, he of course thought the entire situation was completly hilarious. Which in hindsight it may have been. Though I do wonder if the old neighbours next door were watching through their kitchen window, which has a beautifully clear and un-obstructed view into our yard now the lean-to is down.
Cloth napkins, a vintage plate, handwoven basket and embroidered linen. All op-shop finds, bought for next to nothing.
Well the weather here is glorious, though Grant has been working on a jack hammer bringing up the last of the foundations which has had a bit of an earth shattering effect on my peace and quiet. He seemes to have finished now and has moved onto a crow bar and shovel which is signifiacantly quieter. I best pop the kettle on and make us a cuppa and force him to knock off.
Emma
xx
