up with the chooks

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For someone who claims to despise clichés, am I becoming one?

Boy quits job, turns freelancer, family moves to country, girl bakes bread, has chickens… what's next? pot-bellied pigs? (or maybe Wessex Saddlebacks?) er, not just yet. 

Whatever. I LOVE chooks. Love them. We always had them when we were growing up, my sister Naomi was in charge of them. This place already had a fantastic chook run, so with a bit of tinkering and a family adventure up to the same poultry provider my Dad used to use… here we are. 

 

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These are layers, not meat chickens, so we decided to name them. We've named about half so far: Benedict, Custard, Scrambled, Noodle, Poached and this gorgeous lady above is Hollandaise. 

And Mum, that's not really your granddaughter eating the hay while sitting in a chook pen. Really it's not. 

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Getting set up… 

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Nesting boxes!

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Ad hard at work. (With a ring-in, no he's not mine.) The baby in the straw, yep, she's mine. 

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Henry off to check the egg count. Again. (The chooks moved in a mere two hours before.)

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Henry moving at high speed with super exciting news. Lady with camera, son. Slow down! And did you just hurdle your baby sister?

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Yep, that's exciting. Our very first egg.

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Happy, happy cliché. With home grown eggs Benedict. 

xxx

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