Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Within seconds Natalie had produced her 'Hen File', which I didn't even know existed, and
made it clear that the subject had already been 'looked into' and in some detail. The coop,
left by the previous owners, needed disinfecting and thoroughly cleaning out (my job), some
kind of outdoor run needed building and securing (my job) and a perch, step and shelf needed
constructing in the coop (my job).
I pointed out that I seemed to be copping most of the workload here.
'Ian,' Natalie said, talking to me like a child, 'if you want hens, you have to look after them.'
Un-bloody-believable!
'Hang on! You lot have been banging on about chickens…'
'They're called hens, Daddy. Hens lay eggs,' Samuel said, a touch patronisingly.
'Hens, then. You lot have been asking for hens for, for, for...' I stopped and looked from face
to face, each one a picture of innocence. I'm not saying it was planned, but somehow in the
blinking of an eye I had gone from being the one stumbling block in the whole chicken own-
ership saga to being not only the catalyst but owner with chief responsibility for the damn
things.
Which is why, if you'd happened to be in the Loire Valley late one Thursday night you'd
have seen an impeccably dressed mod being given the run around by two hens who had es-
caped their run on the way to the coop. You would also have seen Natalie and the boys laugh-
ing uncontrollably as I chased the hens with the swimming pool net one way and then was
chased back again by the hens who were being chased by Pierrot and Junior. An hour it took
me to get the birds back in their coop, an hour; you can see why free range chickens are big-
ger - it's their bloody leg muscles.
