We spent the bank holiday weekend in Dublin, visiting the ever tolerant husbands family and generally jollying about the place enjoying ourselves. Despite the youngest sons attempts to smuggle Belinda into the back of the car, we had to leave the girls behind and our lovely animal loving neighbour took charge.
The afternoon before departure, said neighbour popped around to receive her instructions. I seriously doubt that even a neurotic first time mother leaving her tiny babe for the first time would have been so precise and detailed. I wittered on for some considerable minutes about food preferences, social dynamics and the fact that Belinda was doing her best cow pat impression in the nestbox. Realising that my audience was beginning to glaze over, I cut to the chase.
On the morning of departure, I spent a frantic twenty minutes sorting out food, water and checking that the gate was locked and bolted. Then checking again. Then once more for luck. At this point the ever tolerant husband frog marched me to the car, determined that we would not miss our ferry because of his obsessive compulsive wife.
A lovely time was had by all, despite the youngest sons assertions on day one that he wanted to go home right away because he missed his chickens. While secretly sharing his sentiment, I jollied him along and he contented himself with drawing endless portraits of his beloved Lindy.
On arriving home, the first port of call was the coop. With relief, I saw Mabel, Maude, Mini and Doris clamouring at the door, bokking their little hearts out. Lifting the nest box lid, we found Lindy hopelessly trying to incubate some eggs. Maeve leaped from the greenhouse like a rocket and ran around our feet in joyful circles.
I sneakily fed them all some cherry cake, just to celebrate our home coming.
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