Day 288.

50 shades of Sylvie. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Daft hens: one.

The new hen Sylvie is a dear old soul, but really, thick as two ducks she is. Complained of being hungry and when I said, “Well, go and have a feed of pellets,” she said she tried but the feed hopper wouldn’t open. When I asked her to show me she went and stood in front of the feed hopper expectantly. She had no idea that you have to actually STAND on the pedal to lift its lid. Maybe she thought The Female Person was hiding in the shadows with a button in her hand to press and open up the hopper, much like the garage door. Maybe she thought is was some kind of magic? Who really knows WHAT (or if) she was thinking?

I got her sorted by showing her how to use the pedal but each time she does and the lid lifts she exclaims “Whoa!” in surprise. Sheesh.

A poem about Sylvie by Ruby
Sylvie, silver grey
Your mood is not too gay.
What’s wrong Sylvie?
Can’t get the food?
Magic feeder not in the mood?
It’s alright, put your foot here
And for Dog’s sake get your brain in gear!!


A magnificent mini moment of versification.