Our continental shopping spree could be described as a moderate success. I have to keep checking the wall cupboards in the kitchen, as a (somewhat paranoid) part of me is convinced they are easing away from the brickwork under the weight of multiple bottles of red wine – so that’s Lloyd’s needs taken care of. After sampling deliciously zingy (and very drinkable) lemon bonbon cocktails on a night out a couple of months back, I’ve been searching for butterscotch schnapps – an unlikely but essential ingredient – to recreate the experience at home as and when the mood takes me. It seems there isn’t much demand for it in Calais supermarkets, despite the varied selection of strangely coloured and flavoured liquids that were on offer. I was hoping to pick up another packet of Kinder hanging chocolates for the Christmas tree this year, but they were also nowhere to be found. At this point, I probably should have grabbed the Hello Kitty advent calendar as a small comfort, since the worst was yet to come (have you guessed where this is going yet?). I’m not certain exactly how long it was that I spent staring at the well-stocked shelves of the chocolate aisle; other shoppers came and went, browsing and choosing quickly and moving on, whilst I was left empty handed. Apparently my beloved Lindt dark chocolate with the milky middle is no more. It would be only a mild exaggeration to say that I was fighting back the tears as the realisation set in… Naturally, I felt the need to compensate for this absence with a variety of alternatives in the hunt for a new favourite – hopefully the raspberry goo, crème brûlée, and lemon meringue pie flavours will live up to their enticing wrappers. The Milka Caramel looks especially promising, though could be good, or could be horribly sickly – I will report back in due course. I consider it my duty. In the meantime, it’s taking everything in my power not to devour the entire box of fruit macarons in one go. I’m sure there’s a good reason not to, I’m just struggling to think what it might be…

It’s been a bit of a sickly household here recently. Halloween brought me a delightful (ahem) cough and cold, so when I wasn’t dishing out sweeties to ghouls at the door, it was sofa time for me. Over the past few weeks, perpetually ill bionic-bun Pepper has been fighting off a nasty eye infection. After kicking myxi’s arse, we thought her troubles were over – at least temporarily – so it was something of a kick in the teeth to have yet another problem to deal with so soon afterwards. I couldn’t help thinking that it would be typical for her to be dispatched by a bit of a funny eye after getting over myxomatosis and repeated bouts of snuffles. Happily, the vet gave us the news yesterday that the eye is now almost totally healed; there may be some scar tissue, but the danger of Pepper losing the eye has gone – which was a real risk for a while. If there’s any justice, maybe the little bun can stay healthy for a bit now; I know she’s not the only person who’ll be pleased when the thrice daily eyedrops are all finished.

In an effort to be more organised than my usual pre-Christmas daze – it always seems to show up unexpectedly early – I’ve made some token gestures towards starting shopping for gifts. Tomorrow we’re pushing the boat out (if things go terribly wrong with SeaFrance) and heading over to Calais to raid the supermarkets; primarily for Lloyd to re-stock the wine rack, however much he denies it. The tinkling, jingling rattle we’ll hear coming from the back of the car on the way home is music to his ears. I’m going in search of my favourite Lindt chocolate, plus a few requests from friends; trust me, the chocolate is worth leaving the country for. Once that’s safely in the trolley, I might be able to focus on the gifts.

 

Damn my short feathers, originally uploaded by Dixiebean.

…so do Dita’s feathers. Once again, the daft little Pekin has chosen to moult now that the weather’s started to turn a bit chilly. She seems to be feeling a little self conscious about her rapidly balding head, hiding away from the camera behind the last of the hollyhocks. I really can’t blame her – she looks utterly ridiculous.

Is it possible that my lack of bloggery could be down to spending too much time eating instead? An afternoon spent at the twice yearly local food fair saw us come home with a haul of the usual culinary essentials – chocolate buttons, chilli jam, smoked cheese – and refreshed our enthusiasm for our own (somewhat feeble) produce. Perhaps they felt hard done by in their grow-bags or somewhat sidelined on the garden path, but for some reason the tomato plants never really delivered, despite looking quite promising early on. The most likely explanation is that we really don’t know what we’re doing out there, and they probably require more care and attention than we gave them credit for; often the fruit would start shaping up nicely, then just as we’d think about picking it, turn rotten without even starting to ripen. Luckily, the effortless butternut squash plants did us proud – I’m not sure how many fruit we should have expected, but we harvested 5 to ripen on the kitchen windowsill. Having eaten one roasted for dinner in the week, I feel like I’ll never buy another one from a supermarket again – at least not in the autumn. Yum. Small but perfectly formed, and entirely delicious.

I wasn’t terribly impressed with the meagre quantity of 6 smoothie hats that my slowpoke needles produced for Innocent’s Big Knit this year, so when I saw they’re now asking for Veg Pot warmers too, I took this second chance as an opportunity to redeem myself. Handily enough, there’s no awkward decreasing required – my stitches tend to be so tight that it’s always a bit touch and go – so now I just have to remember how to cast off. Yeah, just a minor detail in knitting – how to get it off the needles…

It feels like we’re turning a corner here. Things got a bit hairy for a while with Pepper & George’s myxi – who are thankfully healing up nicely – and distinctly hairless with Dixie. Our little old lady of the bunch had surgery for a hernia in her belly, and while we all held our collective breath – she is slowly approaching 6 – everything worked out fine. Perhaps even more of a relief when your vet tells you he’s never seen anything quite like it; typical, my pets are so attention-seeking… Little Pie is winding down for hibernation, so once his worming treatment is complete next week, he should be ready for his box in the shed. The vet said he’s managed to put on enough weight to hibernate, despite the less-than-perfect weather.

Speaking of old things, we made a relaxing day trip to London at the weekend for my birthday. I know, “London” and “relaxing” aren’t words I usually use in the same sentence, but was such a chilled out day. Lunch was a picnic from Whole Foods with the squirrels in the park, followed by an afternoon at the Natural History Museum. I’m not quite sure that pointing at a taxidermy of a manatee, pygmy hippo, narwhal and an unattractive model of an indeterminate dumpy-shaped dinosaur (among others) and cooing “It’s YOU!” is the most appropriate display of affection for one’s wife on her birthday… but it did make me laugh. Naturally, I made him buy me a Very Hungry Caterpillar mug in the shop, so I guess we’re even now.

It’s been an emotionally draining couple of weeks, but Pepper is hanging in there – scabs and all. The snuffles have really hit her hard, so today the vet switched her treatment to penicillin injections. She’s so bunged up it was getting really difficult for her to take the syringed medication, so at least this way we know it’s all going in to get to work. Happily, the vet thought the worst of the myxi was over now, as her scabs are starting to heal – so now we just need to work on getting her little nose better too. George didn’t develop the symptoms, just one solitary scab on the end of his nose – if all carries on well, he won’t need any treatment at all, but he insists on plenty of attention and clover.

Looking equally cautiously optimistic out in the garden are the tomatoes and squash we planted back in June. In the end, the packets of beetroot and carrots were saved for next year, as space was getting a little tight. As it is, I can’t make it up the garden path without sunflower leaves slapping me in the face and tomato stems tripping me over – not to mention the slimy slugs. I accidentally trod on one in the dark the other night, and it was only a well executed move more suited to a ballerina that saved me from going over on my backside. They need to learn the goodies are not there to feed them; at the rate the squash are growing, it’s only a matter of time before we get to tuck in.

The good news is that none of the pets are on Baytril at the moment – result! Naturally there is a downside to this, and it’s a pretty big one: Pepper has myxomatosis. Just seeing it typed out makes me feel queasy.

Last Tuesday I noticed her eyelid was a little swollen, so it was off to the vets and the usual medicine was dished out, along with a squidgy bottle of eye drops. By Sunday morning the eye wasn’t looking much better, and it had been joined by a cluster of tiny scabs around Pepper’s mouth and nose, with a couple of tiny bumps behind her ear. It took a few minutes for the clunking to register in my brain, but eventually the penny dropped. The vet confirmed my fears this morning, but was great at working out a treatment plan for her. Perhaps it’s all a bit much for Pepper’s immune system, because it seems her snuffles are flaring up again too; we’re all hoping that the Septrin she started on today will keep a lid on everything and she’ll pull through ok. All credit to her, she’s been amazingly lively and so far her appetite is fine. George wasn’t showing any symptoms, so he got his booster vaccination – typically, they were both due this month – and at the moment the hardest thing is keeping him from stealing all the tastiest snacks from under Pepper’s nose. Sure, he loves her, but a rabbit’s got his priorities…

If someone had tried to tell me a few years ago that chickens can make really great pets, I probably would have laughed in their face – or just given them my best pitying look and thought they needed to get out more. Sure, they’re nice to have around, but what do they really do other than lay eggs? After fending off hubby’s pleas for a few hens in the garden with fears of avian flu and loud crowing (yeah, I was half right), I finally caved – really, I have a hard time resisting the charms of most animals. When we brought our 5 young Pekins home, I could barely have been more excited; and couldn’t wait to see my tiny little fluffball grow up into a dumpy feathered hen.

To be honest, it was love at first sight with Dolly. From the way she wrestled with worms twice as long as she was tall, to the way she gurgled and chirped her way around my feet, craving my attention anytime I was outside, I found everything she did hilarious and adorable. I loved how she proved me so wrong.

And now she is gone.

We had the briefest of goodbye hugs before I went away for the weekend and I promised her I’d be back Sunday; she didn’t wait for me to come home. My poor hubby found her in the eglu Sunday morning; she’d been perky and happy the day before, so at least I know she went quickly and quietly in her sleep. After treating her lung infection just a few weeks ago she looked 100 times better, but I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.

I already miss her so much. She was the cutest, funniest, coolest pet chicken I could ever have hoped for, and so much more besides. Sometimes only a cliché will do.

It took us a few weeks, but after hunting about on the net and avoiding some strangely cold-hearted locals*, we tracked down our new friends. Being left with a rather small flock (hmm, collective term for chickens..?) of 3 with Tairrie’s departure back in May, the time had come to introduce some fresh feathered friends to our little Pekins. At least, that was the intention – friends, that is. I was aware of chickens’ need to sort out a hierarchy, the much spoken of “pecking order”… but watching the battle in action was not comfortable viewing (or listening!). What better time for hubby to disappear off for a long weekend at a metal festival in Finland!? By the time he returned, I had some of them eating out of my hand – literally – and after 2 weeks, the feathers aren’t flying quite so frequently.

They’re all Orpington hens, and at about 20 weeks old, still have some growing to do. We needn’t have worried that our little flock might take a bashing from the giant sized newcomers, however – the pint-sized Pekins have proved that they are more than capable of looking out for themselves, and aren’t taking any nonsense. I’m not sure that a peck to the face or feathers pulled from the tail are really the most traditional or appropriate ways of welcoming a guest into your home, but clearly things are done very differently in the chicken world…

Carmen is the most timid of the Orpis, but really rather pretty:

Suzi has a slightly fierce look about her, when in reality, she’s always happy to see us:

Veronica – my choice. I love her feather pattern and pretty brown and amber eyes – and she is shaping up to be a properly big Orpington, she’s already so heavy:

Debbie is probably the youngest as she’s still quite small, and so far seems to be an absolute sweetheart:

I can’t wait to see them grow into their feathers and fatten up properly, they’re going to be so cuddly – but I need to work out how to hug them without claws scrabbling into my belly. I found out the hard way that they’re painfully sharp and on the end of surprisingly strong legs…

*We asked at a show about getting some young Orpingtons, and a lady suggested we hatch some eggs. When I said we’d rather not do that as it’s likely we’d get a lot of cockerels – no good for us on the edge of a town with neighbours etc – she just made a slit-throat motion with her hand… Am I weird for not wanting to breed pets to kill!? I don’t think so.

It seems I may have tapped my impatient toes too much. They may look innocent and sweet in all their pink flowery girliness, but those little grey shoes are capable of crippling someone in an afternoon. Just a short wander along the seafront was all it took for raw, painful (so painful!) blisters to crop up on my ankles. Shoes can be so cruel.

However, Sunday’s long journey and hobbling steps were worth it. After admiring so much of his work from afar for so long, I now have a Rob Ryan screenprint to call my own. It’s hung on the bedroom wall where it fits just perfectly, so it’s the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see when I wake up. Sigh – it must be love.