Dry Chickens

Woke up this morning to a fine morning. As I leap from my bed my dear lady wife cried 'It had better rain!' 'Why for goodness sake?' 'Because I'm out all day so I can't go gardening!'

Ah - female logic strikes again.

Bill, my Parson Russell Terrier accompanies me up the back garden and past my four newly acquired chickens, still tucked up in their hen house. He runs over for a quick sniff before going to the gate to await lead fitting and 'walkies'. It starts to rain.

Bill and I stride off into the woods for our morning constitutional. It starts to rain hard. We return half an hour later very wet indeed and I notice that my chooks are looking singularly unimpressed with the precipitation - it's not doing their food any good either, it's starting to look like porridge. Queue frantic gathering of old planks of wood to place across the chooks run. I get even more soaked, Daphne (as opposed to Topsy, Betsy or Judith who are still peering doubtfully from the door of the henhouse) looks impressed. Bill looks bedraggled and miserable, as do I.

Good luck chooks, I'm in for breakfast, then work.........