So when I arrived in Wales to look after their place I was given a great many important instructions. So, for instance, I know where the chocolate cake is.
The care and feeding of all the animals was carefully explained to me. The clucks and ducks get fed twice a day. One type of food in the morning and another in the afternoon. I know where all the bedding materials are, what to do with the eggs once they are collected, when the bin men come and how to divvy up the general rubbish with the recycling and what bags each go in.
However, Boo failed to give me one important piece of information and misled me on another. The misinformation first. She told me the battery powering the electric fence had no power left. Wrong! As I discovered when I brushed against the crotch high electric fence and received an electric shock to a part of my anatomy that no man should have shocked. Made my eyes water!
The information she forgot to give me was what the bloody hell do you do with a dead chicken?
When I let them out this morning one of them stayed in the hen house, so I gave it a poke and said;
“Oi you lazy bugger. Time to rise and shine.”
It stayed put. So I picked it up to discover rigor mortis had set in.
“Oh bugger!” was my first thought. Then I thought,
“What the fuck do I do with it now?”
Couldn’t eat it cos it wasn’t an eating chicken and I didn’t really fancy plucking, gutting and decapitating it. I’m not sure if you’re allowed to bury the damned things as it may be against the law as the carcass might pollute the water. I couldn’t just chuck it in one of the fields for the Kites and crows to eat. Well I could but the neighbours might get pissed about it. So what to do? I scratched my head. I scratched it again. I thought about it long and hard and after 3 or 4 seconds of thinking hard thoughts I put the carcass in a carrier bag, dumped it in the bin and let the bin men take it. They came today. Problem solved. I just hope any other critters that decide to snuff it do so in their sleep on a thursday night so they can go in the rubbish the next day. Unless its a bloody horse!
I think the bin men might notice if I binned a whole horse. Crikey, this farming lark is difficult. Decisions, decisions.
Have a great day.