21 - Tug-of-War

Its breakfast time and I take to my 9 little lovelies 2 bowls of petite dejeuner. I'm in a bit of a hurry as I was up late and behind with my plans for an early trip to the market. Having placed the bowls on the ground I then check the coup for eggs. "Ah ha, a result" I say and "well done girls", we have 3 eggs. My plans are on today, in attempting to impress Sugar Lump by making him a special Creme Brulee supper pudding - I am happy. Having come out of the coup, I notice Madam Heather downing a very long length of ham rind "Oh no", I shout out. Realising immediately that I had dished their food up and forgotten to cut the ham rind into small pieces...

I can see that Madam Heather is struggling to down the rind in one lump, so I go over to aid her digestive passage. I manage to grab hold of the end and give it a gentle pull, coaxing the rind back up her throat. To my astonishment Madam Heather, then gives a more superior tug and swallows a bit more. "This cannot be right" I say to Heather. "Let it go and I will chop it up into small pieces - that way we can avoid you choking to death". A gurgling comes from the back of her throat and I am worried that this is her demise. My dear sweet Madam Heather, who is instantly forgiven for pecking at the youngsters, is going to die all because I overlooked the obvious. "What will Sugar Lump think of me". I cannot give up, I am still holding the rind as we work a Tug-of-war. The length of rind appears to be twice as long now, stretchy much like an elastic band. I am getting impatient and want the result of keeping my bird alive and about to give up when a piercing, screeching Monsieur Poulet is shouting in my ear. "Get of my land and leave my women along, Chicken Maid" he cock-a-doodle-doo's arrogantly. The noise has stunned both of us and we both spring back in surprise as I let go of the rind and find myself in a sitting position. The tug-of-war is over as the rind pings back to Madam Heather and to my astonishment winds itself round her beak. Monsieur Poulet continues shouting his mouth off and then notices Madam Heather unable to speak. He goes over to her and unwinds the rind, whispering sweet nothings to her at the same time. With one almighty pull, succeeds in retrieving the rind in one piece and to my astonishment gobbles the rind up at speed. Near speechless I say "I hope you choke on it, that was a real mean thing to do" and attempt to get up and out of Hen Pen garden. As I stand, the 3 eggs collected had smashed in my dungarees pocket and now dripping disgustingly down my leg into my wellington boots, I was in hell once again... Creme Brulee is put on hold and so is my trip to market...