We are blessed with a half acre plot overlooking a deep valley in the heart of the Blackdown Hills. Although some of the garden is set aside for vegetables and fruit we have always desired a few chucks, not just to supply us with eggs, but also to provide us with some much needed poultry based entertainment.
We acquired a pretty elaborate chicken house a year or so ago which has languished in darkest depths of the garden, and after a winter of fencing we finally had a suitable home for our feathered friends. We bought some books, pretended to read them, before we finally took the plunge and purchased three feathered girls from a local farm: a Copper Maran, a Light Sussex, and a Welsummer. Mrs Warrick named them but these have not really stuck. One is white, one is light brown and the other is a darker brown. Its not rocket science to differentiate between them.
We've had them a month now and they seem to live their lives in a perpetual state of indignation. Strangely enough this is an endearing quality. The very fact is that: a) they are still alive b) I am eating A LOT of scrambled eggs and c) I haven't been tempted to roast them. I am considering that a success on all fronts.