After weeks of faffing about, our potential buyer has taken his ball and gone home. Bah. Now, there are two ways to view this development. I could sit in a corner, rock and weep a bit, before getting up and preparing the house for another viewing. The second option involves ripping the 'for sale' board out of the lawn, laughing manically as the agent attempts to arrange more viewings, and deciding to make the best of what we've got. The second option is deeply, bone warmingly appealing.
Therefore, today I am making enquiries. The ever tolerant husband wants quotes for new bathrooms and a patio. I will make these calls. However, I also have a secret agenda. I need to track down a carpenter to plot my chook palace with. Mwahahahahaha!
One of the main appeals of moving was the tempting thought of a bigger garden. A bigger garden means more chickens! I can't make my garden bigger, but I can create a fabulous walk in run, complete with many perches. A sort of chicken playground, if you will. I have a very definite idea as to how I want it to look, hence the sneaky carpenter finding. I imagine it stood on the newly paved area near the current coop, which is a mud bath, and has been all winter. It will have hanging baskets, and a weathervane. There will be a hanging sign reading 'The Convent'. My ladies will be chicken royalty (I also realise that this will cement my 'madchickenlady' persona, but I don't care. So ner).
Alas, my plans for hatching a few chicks etc will have to be shelved. I am disappointed, but am realistic about keeping a few hens (or, er, eight) in the average suburban garden. One day I will get my adorable frizzle, and that will have to be good enough for now.
And you know what? It is.