Henny Penny

Blessed Sundays, an official break in the continuous action on the farm! Sundays, the time to rest, go do your own thing for a couple of hours, lift up your eyes and enjoy looking out at the world.
After ‘denner’, the middle of the day, remember, was the start of the down time, and if the weather wasn’t great, which was often, it was a perfect time to retire to the straw barn and have a snooze. So cosy and quiet, up on the bales, stacked ten rows high to the rafters. Very private and far away from everyone. Not the hens, of course, who had free run of the whole farm, the house too, if we’d let them in.
One very wet Sunday, when outside work was suspended for the whole afternoon, I lay on my back in a little hollow in the straw and fell asleep. But suddenly I came awake to find a small brown and black hen making a careful nest on my chest. I daren’t move, most of the preparations had been done, Henny Penny was about to lay her egg!
Bird’s eye view, right enough!
It was a nice big brown one; I had it for breakfast the next morning.


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