I recently found a bird in my tumble dryer. It was just sitting there on my jeans, hiding from the cat. She was a bit grazed and shaky, so I prised her out and tootled down to my vet for some advice.
The vet stared at her for a minute, then called his colleague in the next room.
“Hey gotta sec? What bird do you think this is?”
Spare vet took one look and laughed.
“It’s a chicken, Graeme.”
“Noooo, it’s not. I think it’s a water bird”
“I know what a chicken looks like!”
“Thanks, you can leave now”.
Graeme handed her back to me and suggested I let her go and see what happened.
“But she’ll die!” I protested.
He stood there humming ‘The Circle of Life’ as I packed her up and left.
“Let me know!” He shouted after me as I left.
I went home with the unidentified bird and announced to my husband that it may be a chicken so I planned to keep her. He just shook his head and quietly closed his office window.
“I WANT A CHICKEN!” I yelled at him from the patio.
“Mmm chicken sandwiches!” said the three-year-old, totally confused.
So, three-year-old and I went out asking neighbours whether they had recently mislaid a ‘might-be-chicken’. Eventually a man answered and said yes, they were missing a rare-breed young pullet. I was equally as thrilled to have solved the mystery as I was gutted to have to return her! I was quite sure we’d bonded over our equal distrust of Scar the vet.
Chicken-man then peered over his shoulder and said “I’ve also got a kitchen full of puppies, do you want to see?”. The three-year-old nearly combusted. I confess I was interested, if not a little uneasy. I mean, there aren’t THAT many warnings about strangers offering puppies really are there? It’s such a lovely thing to do. Why be so cynical!?
In we went with silly grins on our faces, as you do when heading into the suburban lair of a potential mass murderer with a lax approach to poultry security. There, in the kitchen, were eight of the MOST beautiful blue eyed gun-dog puppies I have ever seen in my life! Three-year-old got to spend a few minutes in pure puppy-heaven playing with them as I shifted mentally from chicken-keeping to imagining a puppy in the basket of my bike. With flowers. And maybe a French stick. Oh the larks we would have! It would be GLORIOUS! There were chickens in the garden too. Loads of them.
We arrived home happy, until my husband stuck his head out of the window to find out how we got on. I told him it was a chicken and had found the owner.
“Good, cos you’re not having one.”
“Oh no, I don’t want one now. I WANT A PUUUP-PEEEE!”
And without even stopping to ask why, he slammed the office window and closed the blind. Because he’s both irresponsible and inhumane.
Anyway, it all kind of stuck with me. In time (several months later) I calmed down and we agreed that we can’t really have a puppy (yet) what with so many of us weeing on the floor and crying for attention as it is, but we could probably manage some chooks. So I went on a poultry keeping course, planned it out and here they are in all their chickeny glory! Cat is outnumbered and they came pretty big, so he doesn’t stand a chance.
The moral of the story is: if your vet is a masochist and a stranger offers you puppies, say yes, and several months later you’ll get really tasty omelets.
Footnote:
I’m not totally convinced Graeme* is a vet. Whenever I take the cat in for his annuals he just gives him a big fuss and says “isn’t he lovely?” and charges me £40. (*I changed his name in case he reads my blog. Ha! Like anyone reads this nonsense!)
Also, if you live in the northwest and are thinking about getting chickens (and you absolutely should think these things through – sheesh – they’re not toys!) then go to www.hedgerowhenporium.co.uk and book a course. Then two very knowledgeable chicken breeders will welcome you into their menagerie and show you what to do. (This isn’t sponsored in any way, but Julie makes really amazing beetroot and chocolate muffins and frankly I’m not beyond begging).
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