Amidst all the ups and downs of the last weeks of my MA looming and the last weeks of A363 screaming at me to tackle the commentary, my last chicken expired. Well, we had to take her to the vet and expedite the process. I know it sounds silly, but I'm the kind of person who keeps chickens, grows herbs and makes bread from scratch. Some of the time. I feel a bit strange without at least a couple of clucks in the yard at the back of the house. Not to mention, being personally attached to the hens which we've had for the last 4 years.
So, I'm writing slightly melancholy poetry about my sister, for an assignment, and it has just a hint of no-chicken-blues creeping in. I look forward to restocking the henhouse when I get back although the posse of men I live with - did I mention I am now outnumbered by three sons, one prospective son-in-law and a husband - have taken down said henhouse. The yard now looks - rather nice, backed by the slate cliff hung with ivy and maybe it would be nice to put a few chairs and a barbecue out there.
I just have to find something else to do with the scraps... and buy eggs. Maybe not. Rosie and I fancy hatching a few eggs out next spring... Meanwhile, word count on the children's book has reached 8k (first draft) and the adult book about 17k (second draft). Slow going.