News from the chickens

News from the Chickens.
Fudge writes . . .
Astonishing news dear reader, Lavender has had five chicks. The other girls and I had noticed she had gone broody. We all have feelings like that some days, but one mustn’t give in to them. Particularly as we have no cockerel of our own. So we all thought, silly hen, she’s wasting her time.
Can you imagine our surprise when on Wednesday we heard the cheep, cheep of chicks. This is a miracle we thought, the first immaculate conception in Church End. I did think at the time they didn’t look much like her. For a start Lavender is grey and her chicks are yellow. That’s odd I thought.
Well you are not going to believe this.
I overheard the chicken keeper telling the vicar that Lavender is a surrogate mother and her babies are not her own.
Apparently the fertile eggs were bought off the internet and fiendishly, exchanged with Lavenders own eggs. I know this sort of thing goes on, but in Blewbury?
What are we to do? Will Lavender realise she has been tricked. What if she’s hatched five ostriches.
Should I tell her?

Lavender writes . . .
Oh joyous day, my longed for chicks have arrived. I am a mother.
I cannot describe the torment I have been through. For three weeks I sat on my eggs. The final week I was infested with red mites. Lying still with my eggs pressed against my hot breasts while being bitten alive by mites was an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Isn’t motherhood a wonderful thing. Now my dear little chicks have arrived I have almost forgotten the discomfort I went through to hatch them.
I heard the other hens whispering I was wasting my time sitting on my eggs. Well who’s got chicks now?
Mind you I was anxious on day six, of the sit, as I did think my eggs felt slightly different. Only new Mum nerves I’m sure.
I shall just ignore their beady stares and remarks. They are just a bunch of jealous old maids with scaly foot.


Mary Kate writes . . .
This week the compost heap was turned. We have feasted on worms. My crop is so full I couldn’t even look at another wood louse.
The chicken keeper tipped the compost bin into our run and then left us to scratch our way through it. The leaf mould held the most morsels. The semi decayed orange skins weren’t to my taste, but I swear Toffee will eat anything.
After we had scratched and sifted our way through the compost, the chicken keeper then put the soft compost into buckets and took it away to the land of the garden where we are not allowed to go. There was nothing left to eat in it; I don’t know why she bothered.
Then all the sticks and leaves were put back into the compost heap and the lid was closed to us and so the feast ended. The next day I laid the biggest egg of my life. It genuinely made my eyes water and I’m sure I woke the neighbours up with my squawk when it eventually emerged.