We came home from our holiday to find Jesus had died.

We came home from our holiday to find Jesus had died. I know; sad. Readers of my blog may remember he was the broiler chicken my daughter rescued from university after he’d grown up in a boys’ student house living on beer and chips. Last week as we piled out of the car from Dorset, our lovely house-sitter informed us, after one last randy fling, (that’s him, not her) she found him flat out cold on the henhouse floor. She buried him in a grave so shallow his white tail feathers were actually sticking out of the ground and made him a cross with twigs and grass, and although it was so kind of her I’m afraid I had to work quite hard not to laugh. I love my chickens; really love them, but this one was just not that loveable.

So with the randy old bugger gone I felt I could stock some better birds. In the past I’ve bought my chickens at the market at Melton Mowbray. Operating every Tuesday and Friday, it is a stock market, not a pet shop. The last time I went there, I took my nine year old son and his friend to help me choose more chickens. I promptly lost the boys while I was browsing around the chicken cages, and when I finally caught up with them they were at the front of one of the auctions where the rabbits and eggs were being sold. I pushed my way to the front and at exactly the moment I put out my hand to squeeze my son’s shoulder, the auctioneer stepped forward and handed him the box of budgerigars he had just bid for and won. Unable to decide if I should be furious at his buying them, (although I was) or actually admiring him for working out the auction system, (for which, yes I was too), we diverted to buy then a cage, budgie food and the wretched cuttlefish shell thing, and by then of course I was terribly distracted when it came to buying any chickens. Hastily bidding for a cage full of beautiful strong birds, it was only on the drive home I noticed what sounded ominously like crowing from the box on the back seat.....and by the time we were home, I realised my son was allergic to budgerigars. So after the briefest of trials of both cockerels and budgies, all went to the local gamekeeper who has a huge cage of budgies, and very likely a huge freezer full then of cockerels.

So the latest girls in the orchard have come from the excellent chicken farmer in Wing near Rutland Water. Deciding not to clip their wings to give them some chance against the fox, I’d like to say they are settling in well, but they are sleeping in a pear tree at night, and resisting all my attempts to put them to bed in the hen house.

Meanwhile in the kitchen garden out of the warm compost heap came another garden guest.  Mo and Angel kept an eye on it, until Mo sent it on its way.

I’ve been gardening as ever; the catch-up after the holiday, alternately bending to weed and standing upright again for deadheading, and by the evening I do feel quite creaky, and as it’s too warm to wear boots I’ve been gardening in my crocs, so if anyone has a top tip for cleaning my seriously, um, outdoor feet, please could you let me know.........