Every Picture: Jess

Yippee! Last day and last post of the month and tonight's main topic will be Jess the Sprollie who everyone (except for Rod) thinks weird. I expect it is because she was the one that no one wanted. There were six pups in that litter, one male and five bitches and they were all going to be drowned. Until our friend heard of it. He said he'd take two and when he told us we said we'd take the remaining four and find homes for them. Swisser said she'd take the boy.

Handsome Rex, who lives between Bradford and Portballintrae

Howard chose Tegan and Pip who had to share their living quarters in rural Magherafelt with a couple of cats.

Of the four that came to us the Banjos chose Dora. She lives in Antrim and only rarely sleeps in Marty's banjo case.

Some people we didn't know came to look at the remaining two and they didn't choose Jess. They chose Darcy.

Darcy is the one at the front. Dora is in the middle and Jess is at the back. She was very lonely when Darcy and Dora left.

But she still had Judy. 

And Bonnie for a little while.

Now Hannah has informed me that I must pay more attention to Jess before she becomes irredeemably weird as there is no one special in her life. Well, she has Rod, who loves her dearly. He loves all the dogs but Jess is his favourite and she knows it. She used to see him very often but these days, not so much. For Rod is a musician and spends a lot of time on the road.

Rod and Tracey on stage. When Rod has to sing sad songs he thinks of Jess and how much he misses her. 

Jess and Tracey

When Tracey has to sing 'Jolene' she thinks of Jess.

Honey and Flour

Our chickens took quite a scattering this summer. Apart from the depredations of the fox we had another one died last weekend, probably from some sort of a respiratory infection. The vet was in the yard on Friday morning and Bert had every intention of getting her to look at it after she had finished testing the cattle, but she started talking about trees and headed off to look at what Bert had available and by the time he'd closed a gate or two she was off and away.

My advice was that he should pull her neck, the hen not the vet, but he didn't take it as he is becoming soft-hearted in his old age. I think that might be the Martha and Evie effect.

She died without the benefit of Bert stretching her neck. That meant we were down to four hens and one rooster and an average of two and a half eggs per day. Definitely time to replenish the flock especially as Bert and Ben had spent a lot of time fox-proofing the run with heightened fencing, reinforced at ground level and, best of all, electric fencing top and bottom outside the perimeter.

I had promised Martha and Evie we'd buy them each a chicken. Evie wanted a pink one and I had to tell her that chickens don't come in pink. Martha helpfully suggested that we could get a white one and dye it pink and I had to disappoint her by telling her that dye would not be good for a chicken's skin.

It was obvious that bog standard hens were not going to cut the mustard with them so after asking around we went to a guy who breeds bantams and other fowl. His place was rather out of the way so I reckoned Bert should drive us as he is usually good at finding his way around. Our van is only a three seater so I had to sit in the back, in the dark as there are no windows. It was very rattly in there but I was just about able to hear Martha and Evie singing their current favourite song, our friend Rod's version of Willie Nelson's It's All Going To Pot. The girls have got it nearly off pat now. Imagine their childish voices doing sweet sister harmony.

All the whisky in Lynchburg, Tennessee

Just couldn't hit the spot

I gotta hundred dollar bill, 

You can keep your pills 

Cause it's all goin' to pot.

Despite my specific directions and a Google maps printout and a photograph of the house Bert still got lost but I didn't mind. For we found the place eventually and the girls were delighted with it. There were ducks, chickens and bantams everywhere. And, best of all, lots of cute little fluffy chicks running around. We had to be specific as to the type of bird we wanted as they needed to be able to cope with the chickens we already had so, guided by the breeder, Martha chose a golden coloured Pekin and Evie picked a white Silkie. They had both been clocking so we also got a clutch of eggs. Back into the van.

The journey home was a good deal shorter as Bert did not go astray. Just as well, as I was sitting in the back with two quiet hens in a box and eighteen eggs up my jumper. The girls put their favourite song on and sang along. I couldn't have been any happier.

There are no pictures of the new chickens just yet. They are in their own little house, in nesting boxes, sitting on their eggs and we don't like to disturb them. Maybe tomorrow.

The hens will be called Honey (the gold one) and Flour (the white one). Girls chose the names themselves. They are called after food. I hope no-one tells Foxy.