Hello Everyone: Couple of domestic announcements: First, I have a special lexicon inherited from my family (courtesy of the Goons, Monty Python et al) upon which I have built and added material. So, certain words will appear as though I am incapable of spelling. Not so. In fact I am a demon speller despite never having been taught technical English. Such words may assault you; for example - 'brian' is my version of 'brain': 'Perpleplexed' is my word for 'confused, irritated and quite possibly vexed'; and 'confusticated' means a mixture of confusion and frustration. To make it easier to follow I have decided to emphasise the words in some way so that the reader realises that I have not made an error. Pedants and I seem to attract each other, like magnets. Let's say that if a word appears in my favourite colour, purple, then the reader will realise that I am only partly bonkers.
Secondly, an update for those of you following me: the two men mending the bells have been up the steeple again having fought a long battle to travel the three miles from the next village in absolutely awful conditions. They are indeed hardy souls! Again I have not seen them all day but did worry less today; that might have been because I have been distracted by the Bad Back Monsters and the Bad Belly Monsters.
Right, time I addressed the real reasons for this missive. Monica, for those of you who have not met her, is a battery Hen. She was one of several that, as an end of term prank, found herself stuffed in heating ducts at my school on the last day of the Spring Term. The Headteacher hesitated not in offering to me three of the hens as he retrieved them and brought them into staff briefing. Before he could complete the question, not only had I agreed but I had relieved him of his feathered burdens.
At home I was fortunate enough to already have a chicken house, known as Peckingham Palace, naturally, but it desperately needed cleaning out having been empty for a year. The Estranged One had not been persuaded to clean it out for me over the year and physically, I am incapable of carrying out the task. Fortunately one of my male colleagues volunteered his son and the following day, Peckingham Palace was restored to its cosy glory.
My three hens were such a sorry sight: hybrids, skinny, bald on the back of their necks and rumps, feathers all dull and dirty. Their combs were the palest pink and floppy too. I named them Martina, Merkle, and Monica and was not hopeful of their repair and survival. A trip to the local animal food merchant saw me buying the most expensive mixed grain they had which I dressed with cod liver oil. A soft baby brush was also purchased so that I could stimulate the oils needed and, hopefully encourage them to preen. I was convinced that Monica would die within two days. Not only was she in the worst condition, her comb being more white than pale pink, the rings around each of her eyes told me that she was not long for this world.
MaddyMoo, my faithful hound, happily accepted the additions to her pack and spent sometime familiarising herself with their state of health by sniffing their bottoms. One of them, I never knew which, had THE most awful evacuations which, strangely, MaddyMoo appeared to relish. Day one passed and they were still alive. Every time I approached them they cowered and assumed the position. More days passed and even though Monica still looked as if she was at death's door, she stubbornly refused to go. Gradually the pinkness returned to their combs and Martina and Merkle were even able to keep them erect. Monica's comb remained pale and laying flat. She showed no sign of improving.
About a week and a half later I noticed that not only were my hens less bald but there was a sheen to their feathers. Martina and Merkle were becoming quite sprightly and were happy to forage as well as accept food from my hand. Monica was less happy wandering but seemed content to take food from me. Three weeks passed and each had a full coat of feathers!!! Martina and Merkle rampaged through the garden taking on the dog and the cats and stealing the food put out for the wild birds. Monica was more restrained and spent more time close to me. Eventually all three had recovered and even though Monica still appeared weak she eventually joined with her sisters in foraging. I was ridiculously pleased when I noticed her comb was upright for the first time. And, she was managing to keep up with her 'sisters'.
One evening, as dusk fell, I went to put the hens to bed. My usual routine was to totter around the garden to see if anyone was still foraging. Next, I would lift up the roof of Peckingham Palace to check all were safely tucked away from Mister Fox. Only Monica was in residence so with some trepidation I didn't close the hatch door and kept my fingers crossed that Mister Fox could not gain entry. I did not sleep well that night. As soon as the Bad Back Monsters loosed their hold on me I tottered out to Peckingham Palace with my heart in my mouth, fully expecting to see beautiful brown and buff feathers scattered over the pen. Monica greeted me stretching her neck to see what treats I had for her and of the other two there was no sign. I fed and petted Monica and told her I would seek out her sisters and all would be well. They did not return. I checked the garden inch by inch to see if I could find evidence of their demise. Nope. No feathers, no gizzards, no unfamiliar droppings from a foxy visitor. On examining the fence line on the Northern side of my garden I spotted a browny, buff mass. With my heart in my mouth I brushed away the grass fully expecting to see a feathered corpse. As the most amazingly beautiful fungus appeared from within the grass I laughed out loud with relief.
Martina and Merkle were never seen again. But, I was intrigued some days later, to see a pair of pale brown hens foraging on the road side two miles away,as the crow flies, from my house. I like to believe that, having put them back together, restoring them to condition, they behaved like truculent teenagers ungratefully packing their bags and leaving home without a by your leave. I did look for corpses but never ever found them.
Monica has developed into the most extraordinary creature. She is clever, funny, demanding, bossy and afraid of nothing at all. MaddyMoo snaps at her when she steals her food and Monica just cocks her head to one side with an old fashioned look as though to say ' and... yes?' Coco, MaddyMoo's cousin, comes to visit and Monica is like, 'yeah whatever!' when Coco tries to eject her from the house. Monica knows it is her right to come into the house whenever she wants to. If I am late up she marches up and down outside the front door until she can sneak in when either the cats or the dog are let out for their morning constitutionals. She is very fast and determined and easily outwits me when I try to bar her entry. Once she has stolen any remaining food leftover from the cats and the dogs, Monica settles down under my chair in the Hive whilst I work on the computer. She alternates between quietly chuckling away to herself and 'talking' very loudly to me telling me all her news.
This evening she has caught me good and proper! Normally as dusk falls she asks to be let out of the front door to roost. For some reason she absolutely refuses to bed down in Peckingham Palace preferring one of the many shrubs in my garden for her bed. She does leave my daily portion of protein in the hut, yes she is still laying even now. This evening, however, she has taken herself upstairs and has bedded down. I do not have the heart to eject her so have provided her with a nesting box. Of course I realise there will be much that I have to clear up in the morning and I am grateful that the Estranged One has left the matrimonial home thereby avoiding an awful scene. But... My father once said that I was 'too soft for my own good'; my first husband told me that I would 'sit in a pile of shit for an animal' and my Beloved Daughter-in-Law says that she always pictures me surrounded by my animals. I take all three comments as compliments.
And now whilst the Bad Belly Monsters have given me some temporary respite, I shall close. If you have enjoyed this, do please let me know, and, perhaps you could follow me too ...?
Take care, Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx
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