the accidental smallholder :: diary archives

The King (of the dunghill) is dead.

When I went out to let the hens down this morning, there was a pile of feathers under the ark. All the hens were present but no Hobbes. I assume a fox must have got him as he went to bed last night. Reynard must have fancied a change to rabbit.

The three young cockerels are fine, so one of them will get a reprieve from the roasting tin either as our stock cockerel or as a swap for an unrelated one. It's an ill wind...