In Which I Pine for (Human) Company ; I Am a Bit Sad, Having a Barbecue On My Own. It Is at Times Like These, When Everything Is Bathed in Sunlight, That I Wish I Had Someone to Share Things with [Eire Region]

Summary

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Iam typing this on a balmy August evening, sitting in my garden overlooking the 'wildflower meadow' (bare patch of scrub interspersed with shepherd's purse) where the ponies are snuffling and blowing in what is left of the grass. The only cloud on the horizon is that Veronica the former battery chicken is not at all well. I opened the henhouse as usual to let them out first thing (they do love to sunbathe; bliss is written all over their beaks as they spread their moth-eaten wings), and found the floor covered in a gooey mess of entrails and blood. I thought at first a fox had got in, and then worked out that Veronica had been bleeding from her front bottom. Do hens have miscarriages? I phoned Tara the vet, who lives in my village and was very kind and holistic when Snoopy was dying. She agreed to do a home visit. She felt V's tummy, and thought it might be peritonitis or a tumour.

Oh dear. V is now on painkillers and anti-inflammatories. I wish I had had her since she was an egg; how sad that she spent two years as a battery hen, and has enjoyed barely a year of freedom since. I have been making her special dinners: white rice is her favourite, followed by organic linguine from Carluccio's.

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In Which I Pine for (Human) Company ; I Am a Bit Sad, Having a Barbecue On My Own. It Is at Times Like These, When Everything Is Bathed in Sunlight, That I Wish I Had Someone to Share Things with [Eire Region]

I am at the moment having a barbecue: my own sweetcorn, courgettes, broad beans and potatoes. There is an owl calling from the woods....

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