Chickens: Sorted!

A marinade. This is what is in the bowl above. But for why would I be posting such a photo? Ah, well...........

And so it came to pass that in the Land of the Chicken Hut much bother arose. The two Princelings of the the Kingdom were marching into adulthood. Their struttings were increasing and they felt the need to practice their cock songs. At all times of the day they practiced. And for a while their voices were husky and quiet. But over time, well quite quickly actually, their voices were becoming brighter, sharper, louder.

And so White Cockerel, the King of the Land of the Chicken Hut, became anxious lest these usurpers to this throne took away his rightful place as Head of the Girls. For was it not his right to father the future generation, or try to? Even if the job of doing so was rather strenuous when it came to the big girls? Stoically he hangs on when doing his repopulating job. All of the egg laying girls are bigger than him. But his stoicism remains. Hanging on with his beak to the head of the girl seems to do the trick.

So all was not well in the Kingdom. White Cockerel was feeling the need to sing more and more through the hours of the day. In competition with those Princelings was this King.

And Head Man said "No more! My ears are full of cock songs!" With stealth, when all slept, he did take the Princelings from their chosen perch on the roof of the Land of the Chicken Hut, and did bed them down for the night in confined quarters. It was to be their last sleep before the big sleep came upon them.

And still King Whitey did voice his rage at the would be usurpers, even though they were hanging upside down being plucked.

With reverence and respect did Her lay the bodies of the Princelings in their freezer tomb, giving them a blessing for the life they had shared with her. She thought fondly of them, and the place they had in her history, for were they not the first born of the small farm.

And so it came to pass that it was time for the recyling to begin. Her searched for a suitable, and fitting, end to one of the Princelings. On the Internet she did search.

Et voila!

One marinade: some veggies (garlic, carrots, onions). Half a jar of  homemade apricot jam. And, best of all, a bottle of red wine!

Into that vino soup put one of the Princelings, now separated into eight pieces, bless him.

All into slow oven for hours. Too long really, as Her was heavily involved with the allotted task of the day, as given to her by Him, which was moving the electric fencing poles to give the sheep flock new grazing, them all having decided to make a break-out the previous day in disgust at the lack of effort on Him and Her's part in regards to the quality of the food they were expected to eat, after all they were either with child or had newborns, so felt more deserving of better food, even though there were hay bales in abundance to do a raid on, even though they were fed grain in the evening, even so they had done a walk-out, and through the low fence across the drive they had barged their way out, through the lush and verdant would-be lawn out front of the house they had gone, and out onto the even more lush and verdant kerbside offerings of the lane, their walk-out being espied by the lady in the house at the top of the lane, who hot footed it down the lane to shoo them back to home and call urgently out to Him and Her, whereupon Him did a growl at the them and shooed them over to the Side Field, where the grazing is very low because they had spent the last six months eating the once lush field all up, so they were not best pleased, and they did moan and moan for the rest of the day, but Him and Her deaf-headed them. "We are doing our best" they thought, "so they will have to be patient".

So that's what took up the hours of the day during which the recycled Princeling was being cooked.

Eventually out of the oven he came. With trepidation Her investigated. A morsel tasted.

And with full tums Her and Him smiled at each other as they roasted themselved in front of the wood burning stove. Him had spent the day on the new pig paddock. Her had spent the day shifting the electric fencing for the sheep. The day had been warm, the sun coming out often. It was good way to spend a Sunday.

Ending up in a bath of red wine was a fitting end to a member of the Land of the Chicken Hut.

Cock au vin was the name of the dish. Fitting, don't you think!

Peace reigns. The chickens have started laying again. Five eggs yesterday. One of the virgin layers gave us this:



No, not the egg on the left, but the tiny one on the right! Well, we all have to start somewhere!

Wishing you a belated Happy New Year, from all of us here at Labartere in South West France, where humans and animals are all learning to live as a family.