Belinda is still broody, and growling at any human or chicken that dares to disturb her. I keep lifting her despite her protestations, and plonking her on the lawn. She sits for a moment, muttering to herself about stupid humans, before shakily wandering around. Soon as my back is turned though, she hot foots it back to the nest. The others are getting pretty fed up with their favourite nest being constantly occupied, and have taken to giving her a well aimed peck as she shuffles past. Like a bunch of bitchy school girls, the others gather and mutter amongst themselves about Lindy. The pecking order appears to be shifting.
The problem with having a broody, is that it brings to mind hatching chicks. Once that idea has lodged in the chicken keepers brain, it is only a matter of time before you start trawling ebay. Therefore, it's quite understandable how I might have accidently placed a bid on some blue laced wyandotte bantam hatching eggs. Ahem. Now, I'm not totally deluded, so I made my bid ridiculously low, and there is another day to run on the auction. I can't possibly win.
If I do win, I suspect that the ever tolerant husband might get a good deal less tolerant. In fact, he might swear at me a good bit in gaellic before slamming a few doors. Can't say that I'd blame him. Despite my longing to have a bit of land, we actually have a very ordinary suburban garden. Therefore, by making the bid low, I'm hoping to hang on to the dream for a bit longer, while ultimately knowing that there will be no cute balls of fluff for Lindy to turn savage on. At least, not yet.