Operation: Good Life continues apace in our little corner of Oxfordshire. We've successfully cultivated the garden to the point that cherry tomato plants were springing up all over the place last summer; we've mastered the art of breadmaking (well, using our breadmaker, at least); and I've thrown myself into trying some more serious and adventurous cooking since the new year began (Mexican and Thai have regularly been on the menu, though the pork, cider and sage pie I concocted with the assistance of the Pieminister cookbook, Pieminister: A Pie For All Seasons).
And now the latest phase: hens. Well, I say hens, as that's what we THOUGHT we'd got. What we've ACTUALLY got has turned out to be two Polish hens, Birinus and Alan, and a Polish frizzle cockerel called Hadrian. All have their own distinct and loveable characteristics and personalities, but Hadrian's our favourite - proud, inquisitive, excitable. So it's all the more saddening that he's definitely found his voice and usually spends an hour and a half (on and off) announcing his presence to the neighbourhood each morning, starting at around 7.30....
There's nothing much that can be done to stop him crowing (he doesn't seem to realise that piping down would be in his best interests), and we're increasingly resigned to the fact that he'll have to leave us before too long. For the time being, though, he'll no doubt enjoy strutting around the garden, pestering us for handfuls of mealworms, perching in suitably imperious fashion on the henhouse and being east Abingdon's alarm clock.
As for the two which actually are hens starting to earn their keep, we've had no eggs yet. Cheeky little freeloaders...
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