A sad tale of dog and hen

Last Thursday night the potting shed blew over onto the greenhouse which is now fairly badly damaged. Well, last night Kim came and he and Gus set it up again with concrete weights inside it this time.

Which leads me to the next unfortunate incident: Are the hens all right? Good question.To backtrack for a minute, last Thursday we went to the

poultry auction in Lanark where we bought 5 pairs of extremely unusual hens. 2 days later we discovered in the morning that something had broken into the goose house and left the dead bodies of one of the new pairs. We both suspected that Angel had tunnelled under it. Not a very difficult task.

This morning, on my way back from feeding Peggy, Angel and Jackie took a long time to come up to the house Eventually I went out to look for them and found Angel in the wire cage which surrounds the little, dark, wooden triangular hen house. She had small feathers on her mouth.

I picked her up by the scruff, gave her a sharp caning with a bamboo stick and threw her in the potting shed then  went inside and broke the news to Gus. They were a really tiny little black and white pair, the one where the hen pushes itself next to her mate, the cockerel, and seems to have complete faith that he will protect her.. We were both aghast and devastated. They had put so much trust in us and felt safe in the triangle.

Then I braced myself and went to look in their little house for the their bodies. Gone. Absolutely not there. I reported back to Gus and we imagined them flying out in a panic from Angel’s viscous jaws and dropping into the pond or the raging burn. (The weather has been fiendish today, all weekend actually — floods everywhere). We ate some delicious tomatoes on

toast that did nothing to alleviate our sadness and we argued about sloppy, hippy-like fencing and choosing such ridiculous birds at the auction last week and it made me realise how couples often have to leave each other when a child disappears.

We then had to have a game of cards to assuage the pain and the guilt and then Gus went outside to see if he could find them in the burn or a bush or whatever. He found one crouching, completely still, under the potting shed. He stretched under and got it out and then we found the other under their triangular house, crouching timidly, again petrified like a little stuffed bird. He got that one out too and we shut them in their house immediately. Gus then went to Galashiels and I immediately went inside to bake a cake in

celebration.

The cake burnt but I managed to cut off all the sides and found delicious soft, warm sponge within.  No, we haven’t gone mad yet .. maybe on the way. Crazy life though. The only way to survive this Heathcliffian landscape and weather is to have a  warm and cosy house which is, on the whole, what we have. But we still haven’t finished unpacking the conservatory.

By Stephanie Wolfe Murray