Wednesday, 14 May 2014

The Good Life

It was my birthday yesterday.  I turned 30 (mutter, and the rest, mutter).  My birthday present from Mr Disgrace may be considered to be rather unusual.  No fancy jewellery or clothes or...whatever else it is that women are supposed to like for me.  No.  I got chickens.

Meet Margot and Barbara, the newest additions to the Disgrace family:


I've been working on my husband for years to get chickens.  He claimed to be mortally afraid of them, but in the end was lured in by the promise of free eggs and being a bit like Tom out of The Good Life.  Who wouldn't want to be a bit like Tom out of The Good Life?

So, he bought a chicken coop and two little red hens from a local poultry seller, and ever since Sunday, they've been happily burbling about on the lawn, scratching at stuff and chickening about.  Gorgeous.

The thing is, I was pretty convinced that when I was finally allowed to have chickens, my life would suddenly transform into that of a domestic goddess.  Seriously, how much trouble can you get into when you've got chickens living in your garden?  It's the sort of middle class domestic bliss that proves that one is a real adult, right?  There would be snow white laundry on our washing line, our house would transform from crappy semi to something a bit more farmhouse-esque and I would become a rosy cheeked farmers wife type with the timeless sex appeal of Felicity Kendall.

What actually happened is best summed up by a conversation with a delivery man this morning:

*knock knock*
"Hello, I've got a parcel for next door.  Would you mind signing for it?"
"No problem."
"Errrr, you do realise you've got a chicken on your sofa watching This Morning?"
"Ah.  Yes.  That's Margot.  She enjoys popular culture."
"But she's a chicken."
"Yes."
"So...does she live in the house?"
"No, she lives in the back garden, but she's perfected the knack of shoulder barging the door open when she want to come in."
"Oh.  Doesn't she, um, poo everywhere?"
"She crapped in my best shoes just this morning."
"hahahahaha, um right. OH CHRIST, THERE'S ANOTHER ONE DRINKING OUT OF A WINE GLASS."
"Don't worry, it's only water."
"God, my wife would go mental. There's no way she'd stand for chickens in the house."
"Yeah. I stand for all kinds of disgraceful shit."
"No kidding."




Yes, we appear to have adopted house chickens.  The buggers stand at the back door tapping on it with their beaks because they want to come in.  If it's left even a crack open (which it usually is because it's impossible to shut it properly unless you lock it), they barge it open and stroll on through looking for treats.  Dettol is coming in mighty handy at the moment and I'm fast getting fed up of shooing them off the bookcase.  Mind you, it's nearly flying ant season, so they could be handy in the kitchen when our inevitable infestation comes back in a week or two.  I'm not sure that's what Tom and Barbara had in mind though.



3 comments:

  1. My mum's come in and listen to Rod Stewart with her while she does the ironing.

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  2. Haha Love this, made me giggle! Hens are such fabulous charactors xxx

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  3. I didn't realise they had such personalities! Very cool.

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