Helpdesk Man, having had to clean out the compost bin into which I had hastily dumped the fizzing contents of Explodey Egg, was none too pleased with Georgia yesterday. It didn’t help that she had come inside and pooped on the carpet again.
So when I was out at the park with the pigs, and Helpdesk Man sauntered out to the living room to discover Georgia once more in the living room - “threatening to poop”, in his words, although chickens always look a bit like that, don’t they? - the remnants of his goodwill gathered their tattered selves together and flitted off into the sunset.
When I returned, Helpdesk Man’s bow and my arrows were slung over a kitchen chair. Georgia was nowhere to be seen, and Helpdesk Man was virtuously cleaning dishes with a certain air of guilty smugness.
This morning, while checking for eggs, I idly pulled back the bushes… and found another Georgian-style egg. At which point it occurred to me that Arial has grown a lot bigger lately, and it is not unreasonable to suppose her eggs have too.
1. See, this is the problem with the death penalty.
2. Helpdesk Man’s “See, I did lots of cleaning up to make up for my sins!” lost some of its punch when I realised “cleaning up” largely entailed “eating all the rest of the chocolate mousse”. So he could wash the bowl, allegedly. Truly, a jewel among men.
3. We need a new chicken.