The Doctor and me

Some time ago Younger Son invested in chickens. Seven hens and one cockerel. He gave them all Doctor Who character names so, for example, the cock is The Doctor and the big brown one is Donna. They produce lots of beautiful eggs including blue ones - which I forgot to photograph. Anyway, all was going well until The Doctor attacked me, leaving me scarred! (Okay, a tiny scratch on my leg.)

He's very handsome, isn't he? But mean. Just before he attacked me I'd been playing with the children. They were on the trampoline, which is next to the coop, and I was being the shark, running around the outside of the trampoline, trying to catch them. I could see him watching me but didn't think anything of it, until he crowed, flapped his wings, and made a run at me.

I quickly ran away and excused his behaviour on the grounds that he saw the children as part of his flock and was protecting them. 

But I wasn't doing anything the next time he went for me - behind my back I may add!

I took to carrying a wooden sword or big stick around with me when I was in the garden.

We came home from Garda - while Nuora's father had been looking after the chickens -  to a completely rogue cockerel attacking everyone, even Lobo, the dog. 

The week after Garda Younger Son was away - more on that later - and Nuora and I were terrified of the creature. With good reason. Here's Husband keeping The Doctor at bay with a brush while Nuora replenishes the water.

There was talk of Coq au vin . . .

But when Younger Son returned The Doctor must have realised that The Master was back and began to behave again. He lives to crow another day. Actually if Younger Son had been away much longer cock wouldn't have been able to crow at all. All his posturing left him hoarse so each day his cock-a-doodle-do became a bit shorter.