The girls are laying. The rain has fallen. Everything is right with the world.

This morning Ms Tagalong squeezed into the garden past all the verdant growth and had to let out the chickens although it wasn’t her turn. They were very vociferous, indignant even, at letting even the shortest micro-second of daylight pass without them being outside the coop.

Scrabbling to get out, the heaped through the door and fell out, racing toward a bountiful heap of scraps that some kind soul had posted over the fence.

They scratched and clucked, tossed and rummaged.

Ms Tagalong’s keen eye spotted some eggshells amongst the pickings and thought a moment of education was in need.

The chickens will eat their own eggs if they get into the habit so it is wiser not to put the halved eggshells in whole, if you take Ms Tagalong’s meaning. Best recipe is to bake them in the oven when you are baking something else on a low light and then crush them as finely as possible and chuck over the fence for them to scratch at. Hey presto, our very own grit without any expense!

p.s. if you are wondering why there is the Great Fence of China erected between the smaller and larger run it is because Ms Tagalong has sowed some green mulch seeds for the girls and our black wonder (chicken not sheep) keeps flying over and tasting the protruding seedlings. Not yet!

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