“Here” being the farm in Richmond I’ve been going on (and on) about in recent posts.
The chooks made the move with little trouble. Unless you count the fact that Rosie was in a big cardboard box in the back of our station wagon at the time she wanted to lay – so she didn’t lay. As a result, the next morning she was one uncomfortable chicken. About lunchtime a large, oddly coloured egg showed up on the ground (not good enough for the nest box, one presumes) and thereafter, all was right in the chook pen.
The cat also made the move with little trouble. Okay, he was scared witless – but silently so. We locked him in the bathroom at the farm until the movers left when we found him cowering under the toilet. We coaxed him out and he did a bit of investigation and then cowered for the next 5 hours behind a box on the floor of the pantry (preventing me from unpacking anything in the pantry and scaring him even more witless). When it got dark (and he got hungry) he crept out, ate and then sat on my lap. He slept in our bed that night (and every night since) and has spent the days sleeping and staring out the window, wishing for a door to magically open so he could eat all those pretty little birds he sees outside. He needs a collar with a few dozen bells. We’re keeping him locked in for 2 weeks until we’re sure he’ll stick around home. We’re always going to lock him in at night to minimise the carnage to the local fauna.
The house is lovely, the boxes are slowly vanishing, the list of chores is steadily growing and I’ve barely ventured out the front door to look at the land for 3 days now. That’s next…