Morning songs

On a recent early and glorious Saturday morning - it was 4°C outside I let the complaining chickens out. Chickens never stop complaining.

- Michele Hewitson

They squawk and grizzle like rusted hinges on an old farm gate. I lead them, squawking and grizzling, to their breakfast plate. They are terribly greedy, so they follow at a sprint.

There is no more comedic a sight than a sprinting chicken. My next appointment is a bun fight in the sheep paddock. The only creature greedier than a chicken is a sheep. Our mob hear me in the garage pouring sheep nuts into the metal bucket and immediately start shouting.

Xanthe, Greg's sheep, is also called Fog Horn. She used to be the loudest sheep in the paddock but has lost that title to Becky, whose bleat can bust your ear drums.

Xanthe resents this - actually, because she does not identify as a sheep, she resents all sheep and butts the hell out of Becky. Sheep have a strict hierarchy. A ewe lamb is in love with Xanthe and trots along after her all day long. She gets the bash all day long.