Unbeknownst to me my favourite chicken, a Silkie named Mrs Turvey, (after my old Geography teacher) was being left to hatch some eggs. I gathered said eggs up and put them in a tray for collection. I felt terrible when I found out that she had been sitting on them all weekend and tearfully pronounced myself a chick murderer.
Although the eggs had gone cold they were put back under her and she continued to take her hatching dutities very seriously. So much so, she had to be lifted out for a few minutes every day to be encouraged to eat and drink something.
Imagine my surprise and delight when after 3 weeks of seemingly fruitless dedication on her behalf I lifted her up only to find a beady eye regarding me from depths of the nesting box.
Named 'Kinder' because he was a surprise (geddit?!) I am very fond of this little puff of fluff and I just hope it's not a flippin cockerel, or, if it is, that it doesn't take after its hooligan father. Regardless, well done Mrs T and sorry for doubting you. (And for probably properly murdering your other two offspring)
Mrs Turvey shunning the chick crumb and trying to choke Kinder with big lumps of corn...oh dear!
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