Old girls, new girls…

Too much this weekend – my school reunion with the old girls and the collection of the new girls (battery hens).  I was torn. The very day that I am due to travel to Bath to meet with the girls from school an emergency batch of battery hens were being rescued from a farm in Shropshire, the lovely BHWT called to ask if I would like some. Of course I would! That would mean that Laurie would have to pick them up without me and I’d miss out on the fun.


This poor old girl hangs around by the fence all on her own. Her bum is pretty bald and she seems quieter than the rest. I called Laurie on Saturday night to find out how the collection had gone. He told me that there were 200 hens in all and he, Curly Boy and Un-Wicked Step-Daughter were third in line for choosing. “We chose six of the best ones!” He proudly announced. I was secretly afraid that he had left some poor shabby girls behind, who were far more deserving of a new home, in favour of strapping chickens. As you can see that is clearly not the case! If our six new girls are the pick of the bunch, goodness only knows what the worst ones are like!

They had no idea how to walk at first and also seem to drop off to sleep every now and then. They have begun to scratch and eat and drink and have even flapped their wings a bit. One of them only has one eye, “didn’t notice that!” Says Laurie. I am secretly pleased, what’s the point of having rescued hens if they don’t look the part? Although I’m not one for naming hens, I quite fancy calling her Bette (eye patch? The Anniversary?)

As Laurie set off to take Un-Wicked-Step-Daughter home, I rounded up the poor girls, showed them the pop-hole and shoved them inside the hen-house. Until they work out that’s where they should be after dusk I am going to have to round them up and stick them in every night – that should be fun as the nights draw in!

So the Old Girls – the Reunion? Well that was interesting and I think I need a good night’s sleep before launching into it. Last night was a late night and I spent an hour or so at the end in a hot tub, in the open air (‘daahling I know its’ chavvy but with my knees it’s the only thing that helps at the end of the day!’ My ex gymnast school chum explained – and who am I to argue?) with a nice mug of tea and a lot of swapping stories of how the day had gone!

Let’s just say that although I harbour no demons from way back then, some of the other girls do!


2 comments so far

  1. Greg on

    Oh dear, I can slightly imagine you dressed in dark clothes and breaking into a battery farm to free some chickens! I read on and it didn’t sound quite like that.
    If you have been part of any Greenpeace activities, I look forward to hearing stories next time I’m down your way.

  2. photogblog on

    Sorry! Not as exciting as all that! The farmers actually sell the chickens for 50p each to the BHWT who then take them away, clean them up, give them some TLC and antibiotics before people like us arrive to take them off to new homes – no balaclavas – no ropes and wires.

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