Those of you who have followed this column would be aware of the flock of pet chickens that destroyed what’s left of the garden that wasn’t ravaged by drought and water restrictions.
Well, time passes and I’ve given away several, and a couple have died, so we’re down to one chook – Frappe – who’s either too old to lay or is so convinced that she’s a dog, that we get no eggs.
Anyway the damn bird believes she is a part of the family and should have house rights.
Frappe has learned how the dog door works and has began coming inside whenever the fancy takes her.
And as you can’t toilet train chooks, this simply couldn’t go on.
I tried barricading the dog door so she couldn’t use it. That didn’t work because Frappe would sit patiently pecking away for hours until she managed to shift enough stuff so she could get in the house and come looking for me.
To make matters worse, her favourite time for socialising is around dawn. One morning I woke to a sound near me. And there was a chook standing by my bed, staring up at me and clucking irately because I was ignoring her. I was not overly enthusiastic, myself.
I started shutting the bedroom door to prevent this happening again.
My son had a friend staying overnight. Imagine her shock upon encountering a chook, in a dark hallway, while trying to navigate her way to the toilet in an unfamiliar house.
One day last week my husband got up before me and there in my office, sitting on my chair, staring at my computer, and complaining bitterly because she couldn’t find me, was that damn bird.