So, I have returned empty handed. Despite my best efforts to encourage the ever tolerant husband to make a very circuitous trip up and down the country, in the end it was deemed an inconvenience too far. As we made our way up the M1 I had to concede that he was right. I hate it when he's right. Humph. The breeder was indifferent to my angst, luckily.
I now find myself set up for newbies with no actual newbies. Odd. Not to be deterred, I have contacted a much more local breeder and am obsessively refreshing my inbox waiting for a reply. I am determined to see a serama in the flesh before the end of the week.
The girls were looked after by my fabulous chicken sitting friend, so barely noticed my absence. However, I don't allow them to free range when I'm not here so they were a bit more appreciative of my presence this morning. Much chuntering and clucking ensued though when they realise we'd had a heavy frost. As they crunched across the crisp lawn I suspect we were all thinking the same thing: roll on summer.
Hilda spent a happy few minutes ice skating on the bird bath much to my amusement. Maeve was unimpressed by the frozen earth, and her attempt to beautify herself with a dust bath was a non-starter. As she flapped about on the ground I admit to sniggering a bit. She stopped her break dancing for a moment and fixed me with an ASBO glare. I thought it best to retreat and leave her to it.
No change there, then.
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