Our poor chickens would certainly agree with that sentiment, which is why we decided on Sunday to let them in where "the fire is so delightful", but don't worry, we didn't let them near the fire! In fact, we didn't let them near anything once it became clear that chickens do not know how to behave inside . . . Let's just say that they are not the most house-trained of animals.
The cats put on their best "We are NOT a-mew-sed" faces, and the dog couldn't decide whether it was exciting having chickens in the kitchen ("WOW! Walking, talking, feathery toys!") or whether they were actually a bit of a nuisance and possibly also rather scary. ("Nasty scratchy feet and pecky faces...")
But I do feel awful every time I go out, leaving my cats and dog snug as bugs in our warm kitchen, to pour boiling water on to the ice that has formed in the chickens' water bowl. I know they have their own feather duvets, but they do look miserable. Little Brown has given up on venturing out into the ice rink that has formed in the chicken run, and is sitting broodily on the egg Cheeky lays every morning.
But there is always a silver lining in everything life throws at us, and ours is that the hoar frost has transformed the garden into Narnia. So if you don't mind, I'm just going to grab a cosy coat and nip out for tea and crumpets with Mr Tumnus and friends. Keep warm, everyone!
0 comments:
Post a Comment