A chicken.
She's doesn't belong to the house down the track - they're not exactly the chicken type - and she didn't come from the closest other house way up the road or their couple of neighbours (Dawn asked), and the market gardener through the woods doesn't keep them either.
Other than that the nearest houses are in a more residential area a mile downhill on a 60-100mph road, and I doubt she made some kind of perilous journey through the woods over a period of weeks, somehow avoiding foxes and buzzards, so for now she is a Mystical Chicken of Unknown Origin.
Unfortunately Grumble sees her as more of a sumptuous meal (Sausage had a swipe then thought better of it) so although Dawn and I have discussed the logistics of keeping her around for omlettes and existential conversation she's going to have to be rehomed with our friends over at Renovating an Old Stone Cottage, where they already have a chook menagerie in a lovely big enclosure that they're allowed to wander in and out of during the day.
In the meantime we've called her Tallulah and fed her bits of seeded bread and courgette, and she's crapped all over our tumble dryer in Outbuilding 1, where she spent last night. She has also voluntarily been for rides around on our shoulders and backs - we can't get her off when she's up there - and keeps trying to get in the house through the cat flap, which would make Grumble's day, especially because he broke it in the first place trying to get at her.
No eggs this morning, however.
I think our new houseguest is broken.
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| One look at Tallulah and Grumble started running around like he was on E-numbers |
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| Sausage was interested for a while but realised he'd be biting off more than he could chew |
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| Are chickens normally this friendly? |
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| New T-shirt required |
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