Some chooks have all the luck. Some are born into royalty or at least aspire to it. These lucky escapees from a battery farm must have been born with a silver leg tag at the least.
This is their home. Cluckingham Palace complete with blue painted shutters and blue and white polka dot curtains. All the better for spying Mr Fox if he comes calling. He won't be huffing and puffing down this chimney though.
Ms Tagalong was very impressed with the set up. The Dorothys, as all the 10 chickens are called, have the run of a large field occasionally shared with a few horses. The slope of the field means that as you come through the bottom gate into the farm they spy you and race down in that inimitable chicken way, wings outstretched, legs akimbo, falling over themselves in anticipation of a delectable snack.
Ms Tagalong did not disappoint, she took the remains of frozen hot cross buns , soft and pappy from a too long stay in the freezer, perfect chook fodder!
Darling Loggins (she again of The World from my Window fame) bakes their egg shells and crushes them into small pieces with a large white pestle to supplycalcium into the diet, so Tighes Hill garden friends remember to bake them hard before you toss those shells over the fence.