Miss Speckedly Hen. Clucking yesterday, not today.

Wasn't planning on spending cash on new poultry right now, but the everlasting Miss Blue will pine on her own.

Is now the ex-and-buried Mrs Black). She looked a little sad early yesterday afternoon. I then forgot to check on her before we went out in the evening--and checking on her when we got in would have been a little pointless. She was dead in the pod this lunchtime, with Miss Speckledy say disconsolate next to her and Mrs Blue being her usual self.

Since I removed the body, they've both been hooting rather disconsonsolately. Odd for Mrs Blue, since she had a habit (ameliorated by the presence of Miss Speckedly) of pecking Mrs Black. Mrs Blue is doing a pretty good moult at present, too.

I hadn't been planning on cleaning the run until tomorrow. But at least the sun's shone on my efforts.

* I'm trying to remember how long we've had Mrs Black (it must be three since we took on Miss Speckledy and we had Mrs Black then). I got her from somewhere in Essex courtesy of a lift with smallphoenix several years back on a joint acquisition trip (a chicken run?). So, not too short a life, tho' I'm not quite cetain how happy. She was always bottom of the pecking order, and nervy with it.

I blame la_marquise_de_, since it was on her recommendation that I went and sat outside Boots today and listened to Wang Shun Xian. Superb. Especially watching the inevitable flautist's eyebrow raising. As soon as I can kick the small girl off the TV, we'll have a good listen to the two CDs.

(Also bought replacement mint and chives to be planted in the garden surrounded by razor wire with machine gun emplacements [you think Chicken Run was based on anything except fact], which is now hidden under cover, since keeping it indoors meant Big ate the chives.)

Henz in snow from two days back:
( click for cluck )

I'm off to buy eggs for the first time since May. The impending birthday cake will only be 1/3 Fred and no Jack at all.

We really need that Silkie.

From the Tory gruff: chickens aren't birdbrains.

Can't say I'm surprised. The gossips in my back garden seem to get their message across quite adequately.

The hens are soggy. Mrs Fred, especially, loses her extreme fluffy buffness and looks much reduced in volume. Jack, however, does the water off a duck's back thing: the drops that gather on top of her glossy black feathers do look like little crystals. Time methinks to put the larger winter cover over their run.

The weekend, apart from forays to Looby Loo's music class and a pleasant lunch at Efe's, was rather dominated by adaptations of 19th-century novels. I'd missed the beginning of the rebroadcast of the 1990s BBC Pride and Prejudice space (when are they going to do the proper one from the 1980s? Colin Firth is not my idea of Darcy), but enjoyed watching most of the last three episodes. Looby Loo was captivated, so I may have to acquire the relevant DVDs (yet again, she shown just how girly she is). I guess she'll have to watch the repeat of Jane Eyre too. I don't think it will be any more frightening than Doctor Who. I suppose if she can enjoy having Sherlock Holmes stories read to her, Jane Eyre wouldn't be too difficult either. (I think I'd heard it on the radio before I read the novel myself when I was ten or so.) Of course, as with Jane Austen's works, I don't actually own a copy. I read those books when I could still borrow the copies from my parents' bookshelves (300 mile long arms I do not have). Having watched the programme on romantic novels on BBC four, I'm rather tempted by the "revamped" covers on offer for the Jane Austen novels. I assume that a similar reissue of Jane Eyre. (I'm impressed today by the Dragon's ability to cope with book titles and authors names with almost no intervention. I really don't need to type very much these days.)

Suzuki workshop came and went, tho' there's bills to pay and tidying up loose ends to do.

Friday I got sick and am still barely upright and reading through one eye (helps make the dizziness go away).

Things I have learned recently: if wearing a t-shirt with a high contrast print never bend over a ravenous chicken. (I did. It pecked me. I have the bruise to prove it. On my left nipple. Pictures will not follow.)

Jack has learned how to knock on the back door.