Season's Greetings

Just wanted to wish you all a Joyeux Noel.

Rest,

Enjoy,

Think,

Remember.

And take time out to recharge your batteries,

So that you can be ready to hit 2011 on the chin,

And have the courage to make those decisions which have been put off for too long.

'I can do': let that be your motto for the New Year.

And today we found a stash of eggs, hidden away behind the wood being dried in the gateway. Unfortunately Gus and Bools raided the hideaway and got to the eggs before we remembered to pick them up. Message To Selves: Always pick up eggs when first we see them as other members of the household will seize the opportunity for a snack.

And so it came to pass, that in the Land of the Chicken Hut unrest began oozing into all who resided there. A voice began to speak. A voice hitherto without shape or form. Just a gargled croak. A couple of coughs really. That was all. But this voice started growing, each time a little bit more. And The White Cockerel took umbrage at this strange sound. For was not he the King of the Patch. The Chosen One. The One who had The Voice. And so he felt driven to speak out about his kingship. At many moments of the day he felt the need. And still that odd sounding voice did speak. And over time it began emulating the flow of The White Cockerel's voice. But not the sound. The White Cockerel's voice was high and bright. T'other one was dark and gruff.

But who was the one who was making this sound. Who was the usurper to the kingship. Which princeling had arisen from out of the flock, because that is what that sound was saying. 'I am a king in waiting, and dare you to upset me oh White Cockerel, and I will take you down'.

'Twas not good. But who?

So Her and Him started keeping an eye on the members of the Land. And it was observed by Her that the young black chicken was the likely candidate for the mischief, Her noticing that he was starting to grow quite a fancy dancy tail, and a bright red flash of flesh upon his head. Him was not so sure. And he was right. For he espied Young Black Cockerel's friend, the Plump Brown Chicken suddenly raise up 'her' head and make that deep dark song.

But what is this now! How can this be. For was this not the next canditate for the egg laying championships? Was she not oozing feminity, with lovely plump thighs, and a partly bushy bum. I say 'partly bushy' because Her had become a little fazed by the sight of two cockerel-type feathers swishing up from out of the chicken's rear which no other girls in the Land sported. And so where was the red flash of masculinity on the head as well! No, this was a Hen in waiting to start laying, this is what Her said. But Him said, "No. She is a He", his assessment justified when 'She/He' did that song.

Uno problemo now in the Land. The White Cockerel holds pole position, but the Young Black One-eyed Cockerel ('one eyed' because he got poked about at birth after his early eviction from the nest) seems to be an up and coming princeling. However. It would appear that there is another princeling, who is more like a princess, who is coming from out of the ranks as well.

Uno questiono: Should the Black One-eye be allowed to stand up to the White Cockerel? Or should Whitey be allowed to keep tending his girls? And should Brown CockHen be allowed to develop whatever sexuality he/she has, even perhaps becoming the King, or Queen? Or should he/she be put into the pot. Along with One-eye, who is a nervous wreck because he is unable to see incoming attacks from the others when they have a mind to put him in his place as a very, very, under-princeling. For some reason, the others do not do this to Brown CockHen.

These questions, my friend, will have to be answered if peace is to reign once more in the Land.

And why, pray tell, is the Land being attacked from below. For of late there has been uprisings in the earth beneath their very feet. Fresh soil is seen in new piles daily. Is this a manifestation of the unrest within The Flock? Princelings, you see, make the Chosen One want to reinforce his position as king. This he does frequently. From 5.30 in the morning. Sometimes earlier. Is this why the soil is in revolt?

And is this unrest within the very soil the reason why The White Cockerel has seen fit to relocate the Land.

And this is his chosen residence. Or so he would like. For has he not taken one of the Virgin Hens to a new nest site especially chosen by himself and just inside the huge new house of the Land. And did she not unvirgin herself and lay her very first egg in that chosen spot. Is this not significant for a renewal of life in a new Land.

But then a dreadful noise was heard, and the White Cockerel and his ladies became dire afraid. And fled they back to the old Land, complete with its unrestful soil. For another Him had come, and he did have two appliances: one which made musique loud and strident to Whitey's ears, and the other made rumbles which jiggled the very toe nails on his feet.

But let us not feel sorrow for the woes of the Land. For as is the manner of all things, these troubles will pass in the fulness of time. Dark though that voice is, the lightness and brightness of Whitey's voice will hold sway. For the time being. Him and Her watch.

So wishing all in the Land of the Chicken Hut, and all in the Land of the Humans, Joyeux Noel......xx