|The Blind Rooster Cogburn and a very cold and wet ...me|
Well enough of the shiny and beautiful in the previous post and let's get on with a huge dollop of reality and "not-so-rugged" good looks. Amid the plethora of emailed Quiz entries (4 !) there was an email from U.S. gal, Beatrice Fickle asking me for a factual update on the field and politely requesting me not to be so teenage with (and I quote)
"bimbo men old enough to be my sons!!"
tee hee.........another email from someone who has a "pen name " with the deliciously camp title of Gloria Abyss stated that they hadn't realised I was so " homosexualist!"
(she/he managed to get all the names right btw)
Anyhow, the field ( or as it can be now nicknamed- The Somme) remains largely unchanging in it's routine and make up. The winter has taken it's toll on the old and weak (one of the Crackhead Whores, Gloria the old turkey and an ancient old black rock have faded and died ), but most of the population is doing quite well.
The four tame geese, Jo, Winnie, Russell and the Canadian Goose Camilla square off gamely every day with the three interlopers that were dumped here in the autumn. I have provisionally sold the ever aggressive Thomas and his subordinate female to a guy down the Felin and aim to keep the pretty Elizabeth to augment my little flock....the female geese will be starting to lay fairly soon
|Winnie, Jo and a perky Russell|
The field now has four cockerels though with Rooster Cogburn safely in his own run with vinegar tits, there are only three "alpha" males to protect the flocks. Old Stanley who is almost 7 years old remains firmly in charge. His "second-in-command" is a feisty little fart of an unwanted frizzle who I have called Eric .
Not six inches high, and with an attitude the size of an elephant's head, he spends most of his short winter's day streaking back and forth across the field in a desperate attempt to shag anything he can get his tiny little beak on.
For most of the time it is the slow moving giant buffs that he buttonholes and it is almost heartbreaking watching him riding these unconcerned fat ladies without ever being able to "dunk the carrot" so to speak
|Little man syndrome .....Eric the ever randy frizzle|
Way down in the wettest part of the field, the pigs are enjoying their last few days in Trelawnyd.
I have given them extra rations today ( complete with the recently expired old black rock) and blissfully unaware of their fate, they have squabbled and bickered over the most tastiest bits and pieces like old pub drinkers on an afternoon binge.
|No 12 schleping through the mud|
In the cold and rain, I stood and watched both pigs for a while....enjoying their obvious delight in filling their fat, greedy faces....despite the weather, the whole of the field seemed to be in constant and interesting motion. Boris and Bingley the stag turkeys spar together in lazy circles as the hysterical runner ducks totter by desperate to reach their pond before the geese beat them to it.
In the distance Albert is stalking back towards the warmth of the cottage as the guinea fowl scream at him from the top of the Church wall and everywhere else little knots of hens shelter against the weather, their shoulders hunched and bowed against the wind.....nothing much changes.......