So
I am contemplating hiring P out as a chicken whisperer, this task will not
include naming chickens for his clients. Yes
they’re here.
Those
of you on FB will know recognise Jeff and Vera, except that they are now Bleep
and Booster. Jeff was P's momentary flirtation with one the main characters (the dead one) in Randall and Hopkirk Deceased (forgive him he was only 9 when the first one was released and we were still bedazzled by colour TV).
So I had to come up with a suitable girl’s
name which couldn’t be Jeanie (the heroine) because my mother’s name is Jean
and we have had this discussion about not having relatives names in case one day one of them (the chickens) has to have it’s
neck rung. Lamely I arrived at Vera since the only Jeff I knew with a female partner, Janet, and that should be with John except that is one of my brother's name and we are back to neck wringing and and and and …However the chemistry was lacking every time we came to shout it I couldn’t
remember them at all and P kept coming out with every name but Jeff. So they got the last collective Proper nouns as above and we seem to have
coped. There was never meant to be a male as those of you gripped and immersed
in the previous story will remember P suffers from EDES or to give it it’s
clinical name embryonic dippy egg syndrome.
Their
arrival has not been without difficulty.. Last time I said we were having
terrible trouble sourcing any chickens due to the “maladie desastre” which gave
the chickens camel humps then they died. Well I had wondered about the lost in
translation possibility and it turns out that SW France has the worst outbreak
of chicken flu for, I think it is about 15 years. P read this on the internet whilst
I was in the UK, one day after one of his Sharman’s away let’s go crazy moments
which manifested itself as ordering chickens on line which come in the post
from Normandy. Hell he could have been really mad and ordered Bennett
So
like expectant parents we eagerly awaited our new charges who came in a pyramid
shaped box with the top cut off, that’s the box not the chickens.
3 days in an
ancient Egyptian burial tomb shaped box in the dark creates a bond that can
never be severed and they have never been apart since, in fact, sitting outside
the pound (do I have a subliminal desire for a dog?) in a get to know your chickens session I
spilled me tea when Booster jumped Bleep in the long grass. There have been moments when we thought that
we should have called them Derby and Joan. They keep very regular hours and if
we turn up a little late, though far from even vaguely dusk, they are already
tucked up in the corner of the chicken house with the air of “what time do you
call this”.
The
avian flu thing has meant we have had to register our two birds at the Mairie
for statistical purposes, we are the downward bulge in the bell curve. We
turned up at the same time as Madame Supreveille, at least that’s what we think
her name is. She has the farm next to us and was regaling us about one branch
of her family who have had to lay off 10 workers who are employed to look after
their ducks and prepare foie gras. Whilst not a great fan of the stuff and the
farming techniques surrounding its production the impact on families and their
livelihoods is very sad. 60% of the foie gras is exported to China and they
have cancelled all exports. So they reel like the UK beef industry did when the
world reacted to Mad Cows disease. Mme
Supreveille was in the doldrums contemplating what to do with her ducks, which
are not numerous and not ill.
She then brightened a little at the thought of
casserole, pot au feu etc. until
we entered the Mairie when we began to wonder if Monsieur le Maire was in tune with his electorate:
“Ah
oui, enregistrer les canards” accompanied by a laugh followed by a machine gun strafing
sound and action followed by a
“Aha
…les pigeons, BOOM
BOOM” accompanied by a
shot gun take upward aim and shoot action .
Followed
by an imaginary “Thwack, Thwack”, as Madame Supreveille knocks him to the ground
with her imaginary handbag and stamped his official stamp "ou le soleil ne brille pas"
Bleep
and Booster are not the only new arrivals. We have the constant baby blue tit “meep meep” in
the first bird box that P put up. I have become expert on the taking of
photographs of manic blue tit parent bottoms. Comme ca! (Said with upward
inflection).
And equally expert in the taking of blurred flights to collect the take out. Comme ca! (mumbled with downward inflexion).
Then there is the Confederation of Swallows (SW France branch) annual reunion which takes place in our barn on the drying rack above the freezer and the washing machine which makes perfect surfaces to compare target practice. It is louder than a Women's Institute Handbag Tony Blair session.
And hot off the press P has been so enamoured by the chickens that, he thought I would like another two so we have Pekin Bleu arriving soon.
I am a little worried about the amount of conversation he is having with them when it leads to comments like:
"Damn I forgot the blue seed for the bird tits".
