Chasing my Tale

The moving tale writes and having writ, moves on... when I started writing for the Quake Bellydance Wordpress website, a shiny, crinkly new blog site came with it, so I've decided to use it, seeing as every other mouse and its dog seems to be.  So for more random musings, find me here:

bodypumpangel.wordpress.com

And it's called - what else? - The Second Mouse.

How to host a hen party

I wrote this piece recently for the Quake Bellydance site, and thought I'd drop it into here, too.  The connection to bellydance?  Well, not a lot really, except, hey, when you're a bellydancer, you're often surrounded by hens too!!

Check us out at http://quakebellydance.wordpress.com

How to host a hen party

What’s warm, feathery, feisty, clucky, beady-eyed and makes breakfast for you every morning?  That’s right, not me, but I am intimately acquainted with three little loveable characters that fit this description perfectly.  OK, one of them is not making breakfast food yet, but she’s showing every sign of impending eggy goodness.

I love my chickens.  No worry, no existential angst, no panic at time passing, no awareness of mortality.  Just “What the hell is that that just came out of me”, “Let us out so we can destroy your garden”, and “Can I eat that?”  Their very chookiness is heart-warming and a lesson to us all in how to live for the moment.

My partner and I have had chooks for about four years now, and individuals have come and gone, but at the moment, we have three: Louisa, the ISA Brown, and Caroline and Georgiana, the Australorpes (they’re the ones with the amazingly gorgeous black plumage that glints blue and green in the sunlight).   All three came from over the back fence (yes, they were just passing, looked over and thought “Wow, look at her, she looks like a pushover, let’s invade…”) No, our neighbour breeds chickens and passes over to us the ones she doesn’t want to breed from.  Great set-up; she doesn’t have to feed them and we get fantastic entertainment in our backyard (and fantastic, fresh, yellowy scrambled eggs served with a hint of sour cream on buttery toast accompanied by a glass of champers – well, that’s how the eggs end up if I have any say in it!) The other great thing about a neighbour who breeds chickens is the CUTENESS FACTOR.  This is high whenever some chicks have hatched.  Awwwww.  I melt…

Oh, the names?  Josh started it.  We’re working our way through Jane Austen novels.  The original three were Elizabeth, Jane and Lydia aka Chicky-babe.  Then Mary and Kitty.  Then Louisa, Caroline and Georgiana (who is the littlest, so naturally, she is Georgie).  Yes, we’re still on Pride and Prejudice, so we should be good for quite some time to come.

Chickens need company.  One chicken is a very lonely, sad sight.  The irony is, however, that if you introduce a new chicken, they will fight.  They have to.  It’s a pecking order thing.  It can be a little distressing to watch, but generally no blood is drawn – maybe just a few feathers.  Louisa had to establish her dominance over the territory when Caroline and Georgie were introduced.  The way you manage this is, well, you let them get the hell on with it.  It’s best not to interfere, that can just delay the process.  It’s worth it, though, for that magic moment when you look out of the window and realise it’s all over.  They’ve made friends.  They’re hanging out together, sharing the food (Louisa first of course), covering each other’s backs when BIG BIRDS (this includes balloons) fly over and being given lessons on How to Thoroughly Duff Up a Magpie.  It takes maybe a week or so.

Extreme relaxation, entertainment and eggs.  What’s not to love?  Oh, and if you’re feeling depressed, I have the remedy.  Just watch a chook running.  From behind if possible.  Then pick the silly thing up and cuddle it. I’m just loving the constant hen parties.