Sunday, 22 March 2009

The Power of Poultry

The ever tolerant husband has been won over. For the last nine months, he has attempted to maintain a facade of indifference/bemusement about the hens in the garden. With a weary sigh, he has gone to the feed warehouse to collect sacks of pellets and corn, or horse bedding and woodshavings. He has handed over money for various chicken treatments in a resigned manner, and without complaint, but I suspect that deep down he always thought I was a little mad. While I prattled on about this feed supplement, or that anti fox measure, he smiled indulgently. However, I always felt that behind his back he was furiously pressing the 'wife has finally succumbed to hormonally induced craziness, please send back up!' button.

This weekend, though, there has been a break through. While hubby was busy rubbing down paintwork, digging holes for shrubbery or lugging bags of compost around, he had a shadow. Mini decided to befriend him. She's not the first of the hens to make friendly overtones to him, but she is the most dogged. Usually, the hen comes near hubby to see what he's up to, only to be shooed away. Most hens give up after a few attempts at friendship. Not my Mini.

Mini just cocked her head at his wafting/shooing gesture, and then pecked his wedding ring. She bokked conversationally at him while he sanded the back door, deftly dodging the flecks of paint and dropped sand paper. She attempted to sit on his foot, no matter how inconvenient. When he walked back into the house, she sat by the back door, waiting for him to re emerge. Eventually, he bent down and scratched her head. That was all the encouragement she needed.

Mini is in love. I have to say, I applaud her taste.

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