One of the best things about getting chooks again is telling Anthony the stories that go with the chooks. He gets a real kick out of my ineptitude.
A couple of days ago I picked up another couple of chooks from some serious breeders who go by the name of Chookloop. As soon as I got home, I put them in the chookpen with the other four but they’re a bit smaller so the big ones started pecking them and one of them was smart enough to figure out how to get out of the chookpen – argh (it took me ages to catch her).
So I brought them inside and put them in a box on the back veranda with some food and water. But, as soon as I turned my back, the smart one flew out and followed me into the kitchen where she hid behind the fridge until I was able to ease her out with a fly-swat (another hour).
I ended up putting them outside the back door in an upside down laundry basket which is where they spent their first night. The next morning, I went out to replace their water and, as I was doing so, the smart one got out, so I let the not-so-smart one out as well. They had a wonderful time frolicking under the fig tree. It was only when I attempted to catch them and put them back under the laundry basket that I realised I might need yet another set of ages/hours.
Notsosmarty was relatively easy to grab, but Smarty eluded me for well over an hour. I finally had to give up being gentle and simply threw myself into the shrubbery under the fig tree in a kind of football tackle which left us both muddy and disgruntled. I gave her a little cuddle, she pooped on me, and a friendship was born.
Since then, they have both spent a couple of nights in the ground cage we raised the guinnea fowl and peafowl in eons ago. I’ve placed this inside the chookyard so that the other chooks can get used to them without being able to peck them. They are also protected from crows, but they do look a bit miserable this morning because it is so cold and wet.
It is great to be able to answer the dreaded question, “So, what have you been up to lately?” with, “I have some new chooks!” instead of my usual, faltering, “Oh, this and that.”
It’s quite refreshing, too, to be able to give Anthony some new news and, as he has always loved chooks, it is a mutually enjoyable topic of conversation. What I like most about this is that the new chooks, despite reminding us both of previous chooks (and even chooks Anthony may have cared for as a child), are a fresh addition to the conversations we have in the cozy world of his nursing home room.
Okay, a bit of dialogue:
Anthony (referring to ‘my hero’ of yesterday’s post after she popped in with his clean laundry): That’s the girl, right?
Me: Yes – she is wonderful.
Anthony: And she’s on our side isn’t she.
Me: Of course!
Anthony: Your hair needs combing (oh why is this such a preoccupation with him?)
Me: Why the hell are you so obsessed with my hair? It’s windy outside, and raining. I’ve battled a storm to come and see you and all you can do is criticise my hair! I’ll have you know this is the best cut and colour I’ve ever had and I adore my hair-dresser.
Anthony: Give me a comb.
Me: What? Why?
Anthony: I can fix you. You’re still a spring chicken.
Hence the title of this post which, remarkably, ties in with the chook thing – ha!
PS. After Anthony combed my hair, I ruffled it up a bit and he smiled the benevolent smile of a chook-owner.
jmgoyder 