I am still putting the chooks to bed at night and getting them up in the morning until our former landlords move themselves into The Chookery. The birds don’t seem to have noticed that we’re no longer their resident keepers, but still recognise me and expect me to put out grain for them on every occasion. Chicky is now a miniature hen, but mottled like her father on a black and russet ground. She’ll be a strange-looking bird, but at least she won’t be mistaken for anyone else. Available eggs seem to have dropped off, but this could have something to do with their owners checking the nest boxes before I get there later in the evening.