The day has come at long last, Louisa, Emily and Max have arrived for a weeks holiday. We greet each with screams of joy and excitement, hugs and kisses. Its been 3 months since we moved to France but it feels like 3 years, missing my family is definately the worst thing I have had to bear since the move. But anyway, they are all here now and we must make the most of this precious time together...
"A cup of tea all round" I say expectantly. "No, please lets see the chickens first" says Emily who's a great lover of all animals. "No, I would like to see round the house first" says Louisa. Louisa being a little prone to allergic reactions where animals is concerned is a little cautious. "Where's the Tractor" says Max... At that point Himself walks through the door saying. "Who mentioned Tractor". We are all laughing and talking at the same time, with more hugs and kisses. We do the rounds of the house and garden and they are all suitable impressed, love it all and think we got very good value for money. "Certainly could never get anything like this in he UK for the money" say Maximus. They all utter there agreements on that one. "Now, what about the tractor I have heard so much about. I'm for the first go" Max insists to Tractor Man...
The two boys go off and play tractor games and talk engine oil, combustion techniques and so on. I can see Monsieur Poulet straining his neck with a hand to his ear, desparately wanting to be one of the boys and join in. He is obviously disappointed that he cannot be part of the team by the way he is pacing up and down. He settles for second best and shouts to his mate near by, who returns his call and so it goes on back and forth...
My daughters meet up with the chickens in Hen Pen garden and they all get to know each other. The older chickens being more cautious towards visitors than the youngsters who easily want to be patted and generally enjoy the attention given. The little ones are really still quite coy, afraid even and prefer to be by themselves, sticking together. Madam Poulet is once again, full on to brooding but for now I take away any eggs that she may have laid, without picking her up. Today, no eggs have been laid, which is a bit surprising but she is happy just to sit on her nest. My daughters are more natural with the chickens than me, I observe, the hens going to Louisa and Emily easily to be stroked and patted. I monitor their techniques and say to myself, I must surely be able to do that. My mental note pad to hand, the technique has been stored...
I explain how the older hens are egg layers and that the younger ones fatteners. "What do you mean fatteners" ask Emily, readily looking concerned. "You are not going to eat them, are you"? "Yes but No" I stammer unknowingly. "Himself, wouldn't kill them to eat - would he"? There's a desparation in Emily's voice about our intentions and I am not sure of my answer. Louisa joins in "What do you mean Yes but No"? I explain about the good life senario and how obvious it is, that rearing your own animals to eat, is by far the best method of knowing exactly what you are eating. The benefits are paramount in taste and quality in comparison to battery raised hens for supermarket chains. In addition, we are giving these chickens a very good life style in return by the way they are kept, fed and looked after. "So you are going to kill and eat them" says Louisa. "It is difficult for me" I say truthfully "At this stage, I truly do not know. I would like to think I could but there is still very much a townie about me". At this point Himself - raises his voice from the mens Tractor meeting point and shouts "They are going to make excellent curries, just leave it all to me"....
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