The past week had slipped through my fingers like a Ted Baker scarf. What the hell was I thinking; only allowing one weekend to learn how to care for my twin and her husband’s farm stay? There were animals that needed my attention for crying out loud. The only animal husbandry I’d practiced was caring for the leather of my shoes and handbags.
I eased into my twin’s surprisingly comfortable, yet despairingly ugly work boots, nabbed her hat then set off to conquer the morning chores. After dumping the specified waste into the worm farm, I climbed through the gate into the chicken run. The birds scrummaged to get out of their coop: yelling, flapping and clawing at each other desperate to be free. A conference room of baying businessmen I could handle, but these birds were in a class of their own.
I leaned over and flipped the gate wide like I’d been shown, and they exploded from their overnight accommodation like the favourites at Spring Carnival. In the aftermath I went in search of eggs and couldn’t help the swell of pride. I’d vanquished my first hurdle.
Transferring the warm orbs of perfection to my jacket pockets, I went to throw out the seed for the hens. But they weren’t hassling me like they had when Claire had done it. They’d gone. All ten of them had escaped through the open gate and were now operating as a weapon of mass destruction decimating Marc’s beautiful veggie patch.
“Stop!” Dropping the seed container, I tripped back through the gate and attempted a reverse takeover. At this point they’d stopped operating as a cohesive unit and it was every chook for herself. As I managed to herd some, others would duck back. My arms weren’t long enough, and my legs weren’t fast enough to block them. I don’t know who was causing more damage to Marc’s pride and joy; the girls feast day out, or me when I dropped to the ground as one flew at my head.
With the rake in one hand and my hat in the other, I flapped and yelled to show them I could talk the talk and I meant business. Thankfully my efforts intimidated most of them out of the veggie patch… straight to the worm farm.
Negotiating and plea-bargaining didn’t seem to help, so I straightened my shirt, threw back my shoulders and projected my voice. “Drop that worm at once and get back into your pen.” Not only did they not stop scratching up worms and the veggie patch, they didn’t even look at me or notice my pointy finger. This had always been my boardroom go-to.
Reclaiming my weapons—rake and hat—I marched over to the worm farm and swatted the girls off their hapless prey. Each time I managed to get one to disembark however, it launched a flurry of coffee grounds, tea leaves and eggshells in retaliation. Keeping my mouth shut was a lesson I learned early on. Despite this, I did manage to save the bulk of the colony. However, my sense of victory was short lived; in abandoning my post, the rest of the horde had reclaimed the veggies.
“Choooook, Chook, Chook.” A strangled bird sounded from the corner of the house. All the girls instantly came to attention. As one, their beady eyes locked on the intruder. Tom, Claire’s neighbour, approached keeping up his hideous call and the chickens flocked… literally flocked to him and the container he was shaking. Wordlessly he walked past, and like the Pied Piper, led the girls back into their pen, scattered the seed then locked the gate.
On his return, tall, dark and gorgeous invaded my personal space and reached his hand to my face. I tried not to swoon. But he bypassed my cheek to pluck dripping eggshell from my hair. “That was very… entertaining, but I think you’ll find this is a more practical solution.” And just like that, he traded Piper for Rat in a heartbeat.
