Robin Ellis

…to a new life an hour north of here.

They left in their “limo”, after lunch, each in his own cat box covered with a blanket to lessen their anxiety.

They were quiet all the way–well I would have been, not knowing where I was heading.

We were sad to see them go, of course; especially Chickpea, who the French would call un peu special (a little odd).

He approached all new arrivals with a sideways shuffle movement, which managed to signal “very pleased to see you” and  “watch out!” at the same time.

To us towering humans it was amusing but might have been more worrying to your average hen!

The problem was the dawn to dusk chorus of cock-a- doodle-doos which woke us up and wore us down.

Chickpea being the bolder of the two would fly up onto the courtyard wall and proceed to the back of the house to start a conversation with Claude over the rooftops.

And so on.

A bowl or two of corn & oats with crushed madelines and walnuts only stopped them for five minutes.

If we’d understood the language we would have joined in.

All I could do was issue unveiled threats like muttering, “two for the pot” or “coq au vin” as I passed by–which fell on deaf ears, usually provoking an even louder “cock-a-doodle-doo” meaning “GET LOST–SEE IF I CARE!” as a rude rejoinder.

They had to go–sadly.

Here they are in their new quarters–much grander than we could offer chez nous!

Plus a harem of hens awaiting them and beautiful open air runs.

We think they’ve “fallen into the butter dish”.

“Altogether better–don’t you agree Claude?”

–and first reports seem to confirm this!

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