...all showing their arses to terrorists!

Every night, just before dusk, our hens go home to roost. No matter what chaos they’ve been causing around the garden, they have a homing device set for half an hour before the sun goes down. There is a pattern. Terri (meathead) goes first, then Milly (top dog chicken) and Sherri, exuding an air of nonchalance, hangs around hoping to grab a bit of dog food before making her way into the coop last.

They always sit in a single line, despite there being two perches and four nest boxes. Always on the ‘front’ perch, in front of the window. Each night, as I shut them in so they’re safe from foxes, I stick my head inside the coop, through their doorway, to check there are three fat bottoms on the perch and we’ve not lost anyone.

A couple of weeks ago, I found Milly alone in the coop. Where were Terri (ALWAYS first to bed) and Sherri? I wandered round the garden with a growing dread that we’d had a fox strike and then noticed that they were sat on the dry stone wall that separates our garden from our field…..on the outside of the mesh fence that’s supposed to keep out rabbits (which is a laugh in itself, as they’ve (wabbits) been eating my veggies this week, the little furry, bobtail, wotnots)!!!!!

How did Terri and Sherri come to be in the field – well, someone had left the gate ajar and they’d sneaked out. Terri has a spirit of adventure that it’s hard to quell and she’ll always look to be where she’s not supposed to be. I suspect that Sherri just followed her and Milly was too scardey-cat to go too.

Anyway, there they were, looking most dischuffed that they could see their coop and not get to it. Although I’m the first to shout that chickens are sentient beings with individual personalities and brains, it’s true to say that their brains are the size of a pea so they’d not worked out the way back, they’d just got stuck.

I roped in DM to help – a pair of panicky chickens can be quite a handful. I grabbed Sherri easily enough, but DM wasn’t so lucky – Terri headed straight for the middle of the stinging nettles and prostrated herself on the ground in the middle of them. He got stung lifting her out but got her safely in the end.

Anyway, the point of this ramble is to say that each night when I count fat, feathery bottoms, I think to myself – now that’d make a good pic. Most days though it’s wet/muddy/otherwise mucky so I don’t fancy crawling around outside the coop setting up the mini tripod to get the shot. Today it was dry and reasonably fine so I thought ‘today’s the day’. Of course, with an exposure lasting several seconds, the girls are a bit blurry and there is a ghostly Sherri face looking as if to say ‘what are you doing woman?’ She’s right of course, I am bonkers!

Last year, my own small act of defiance!