Homing Chicken. All The Fun Of The Farm
All we were left with for our efforts was a flock of smelly, dirty geese and an equally smelly dog. Our exploits to re-stock the farm after years of neglect have all but fallen through and I hate to converse with my hubby over the prospect of goats. Yep, They've been part of our plans for many a year but after chasing chickens all weekend, I don't fancy pursuing a goat, though it may be the other way around judging by my past experience in goat keeping. I've had a very sore bottom on account of Mr Nasty Nose -- that was my pet name for the angriest, ill tempered Billy I have ever encountered. Hated me, my family, the postman, er, he gets another mention, poor guy! And hated life itself in the end -- ran into a tree at speed and found it did not move. I stood there witnessing its demise and although I was quite upset at the time, I can honestly say that since then I've never had a liking for that particular animal.
We've had some laughs and some near misses, catastrophes and hairy moments. I think perhaps this goes with living on a farm and half the stuff you wouldn't believe. I came home from work many years ago to the sound of someone in the field calling my name. It was a distress call of some proportion and my heart raced as I searched the undergrowth. Finally I came across a sight I hoped I would never witness -- a bull tossing my uncle around like a rag doll. How would I deter the Bull without it going straight for me? I bolted over the fence ---wouldn't you? And made for home to ring the ambulance. Did you really think I would grab a cape as in Spain and fight the beast? With the ambulance on its way, I returned to the scene and mercifully and thankfully the Bull had gone. My uncle was lying on the floor complaining and moaning about his leg. I could see right away that his wrist was broken, and the smell!!! It had tossed him through the dung and he was simply covered. I could hear the ambulance arrive and soon I was joined by two nervous looking medics at the scene. My uncle was still complaining about his leg, so they took special care with him. Finally removed from danger, he was in the ambulance. "My leg, Oh, my leg," he said.
"Don't worry pal, soon have you right," said the medic as they placed him on a stretcher.
"My Leg!" he screamed. The medic began to tear his pants to examine the area but found nothing sinister except a few white spots.
"Can't see anything, pal," he said except a few white lumps/
"I know that, said my uncle -- I've been stung with nettles!" The fact he'd got a broken wrist and a few fractured ribs bothered him not, it was the nettle stings that upset him the most.
Back to the chickens. One lonesome wanderer has returned. It looked at me as if to say, "Well, are you going to chase me or what?" My answer to that was, "My game was up on Saturday, Monday and Tuesday -- homing chicken you might be -- Sally Gunnell I am not!"