I’ve been a bad blogger.
No posts, and no pictures. And almost no news.
Work has been horrid – the stress has obvioulsy affected my immune system, as I’ve been sick for the last few days. Or maybe it’s not getting enough sleep. Remember the gorgeous baby chicks we took in just before Christmas ? The ones that were borrowed for a PETA photo shoot with JD Fortune from INXS? The ones that couldn’t go back to the horrid petting zoo they came from?
Or did I not mention them?
Anyway, we took them and the grown up chook that we called Grace, and it’s been a delight watching them grow up. Until the crowing started.
All three are boy chickens. Roosters. Handsome, big, healthy, boys, with a compulsion to greet the day before it arrives, at the top of their little lungs “I’m alive, and it’s a BEAUTIFUL DAY”. “WAKE UP AND ADMIRE ME, I AM SPECTACULAR”. At 4am. Really. 4am. In Denistone.
So the race was on to find them a home, before the boys ended up in someone’s oven. The call went out, and animal lovers in two states were alerted. I was given a number for a lovely man who lives on 5 acres near Canberra, which has been set up as a sanctuary, and he already has more than his fair share of roosters.
So Mark and I are driving there tomorrow, with a car full of feathered machismo.