This time last year I was scraping ice from the car before heading off to work. A vague metaphor for how I was feeling about my job then? Maybe. Today I can declare I am no longer a teacher. I no longer teach in any school with children of any kind. I have spent the last two decades of my life in education. I may have made a difference somewhere along the line but it is time to call it a day. I am too weary with it all now - the data crunching, the accountability for situations way beyond my control, the paperwork, the low morale of the profession....I could go on, but I won't because I am done with it and it would be a waste of precious time. And I am certainly way above being assaulted by children who know no-one is going to stop them or implement any sanctions and that it is okay to use a decent adult human as a verbal and physical punch bag. In case of emergencies it is nice to know I could, if I was having a mad rush of blood to the head, pick up a day here and there of supply work. Or some tutoring, which has all the benefits of teaching and none of the crap. But for now, if anyone asks what I do, I shall not be replying, 'I'm a teacher'. And I am extraordinarily happy for that.
Enough.
It's not frosty today, but there was a spot of drizzle when I hied me up the garden to open the hen house for the sensible hens who sleep inside. There is a set morning routine for the chickens now. It is thus:
1) As I march up the middle garden, Mollie, May, Magnus and Tootsie race towards me with great enthusiasm because they have learned I usually bring some offering e.g a bread roll, a bit of lettuce, some sunflower seeds or maybe some grapes. They then realise they are racing towards a human being and get all skittish and indecisive. Like the Clash, should they stay or should they go? Back down or continue the pursuit of imminent goodies?
2) I continue my march to the top garden, pursued by Mollie, May, Magnus and Tootsie. Magnus walks by my side, and converses sensibly; Tootsie zig-zags like a loon to my other side, shouting at me. I shout back, 'STOP SHOUTING AT ME!' He shouts back and then Magnus shouts and races after Tootsie. The girls, because they are sensible, follow me, ignorant of the knowledge that one day I'm going to have the shrimping net with me so I can scoop them up and confine them to barracks so I don't have to play regular games of 'Hunt the Broody Nest' with them.
3) Letting Nellie and Nancy out of the hen house - 'Good morning, Nellie, good morning Nancy Pants' - I deliver the goodies, or in the absence of goodies, a scattering of layers' pellets. Magnus shouts, rather redundantly because by now everyone else is eating - 'HERE'S THE FOOD!' He then spends a considerable time either a) making overtures to Nancy, who regards him with disdain and sees him off with a precise peck to the head or b) scooting Tootsie away from the breakfast party. Nellie will then deliver the most enormous poo known to hendom.
4) May spends a lot of time by the water station (okay, it's an old bowl in the grass, but it serves the purpose) glugging back water to the point I wonder if hens can develop diabetes. Mollie has wandered off, no doubt to scope out her next cunning hiding place for the clutch of eggs she is intent on turning into a brood of chickens, 99% of which (by the Law of Sod) will be cockerels. Nellie and Tootsie can rival each other for skittishness and spend time trying to out-startle each other. Really, they put my nerves on edge, those two.
And I leave them to their daily perambulations, obsessively checking during the day that neither of the bantam hens has gone AWOL, because AWOL means BROODY, and I have to get my stick and poke all the hedges to flush out the nest and that takes a long time because we have a lot of hedgery. Nancy and Nellie, being over 3 years old now, and overly fat (no doubt because of the goodies), lay occasional and mahoosive eggs in the hen house. But they will lay them over the far side which means I pretty much have to climb inside to retrieve them. Eurgh...
Really, none of them earn their financial keep. But they entertain me enormously and bring life to the garden. I love that May is smaller than a pigeon and when she stands next to Nancy it is like looking at a chicken version of The Krankies. I love that Tootsie makes a big deal of climbing on a fence post to crow and then produces a squeak like a small child blowing a toy trumpet. I like how they all stroll around like a wide boy posse, yet if one of them wanders off track they all panic and have to regroup. I like that when I go into the garden they all come running towards me because they think I have something for them.
And one day it will be that shrimping net...
Enough.
It's not frosty today, but there was a spot of drizzle when I hied me up the garden to open the hen house for the sensible hens who sleep inside. There is a set morning routine for the chickens now. It is thus:
1) As I march up the middle garden, Mollie, May, Magnus and Tootsie race towards me with great enthusiasm because they have learned I usually bring some offering e.g a bread roll, a bit of lettuce, some sunflower seeds or maybe some grapes. They then realise they are racing towards a human being and get all skittish and indecisive. Like the Clash, should they stay or should they go? Back down or continue the pursuit of imminent goodies?
2) I continue my march to the top garden, pursued by Mollie, May, Magnus and Tootsie. Magnus walks by my side, and converses sensibly; Tootsie zig-zags like a loon to my other side, shouting at me. I shout back, 'STOP SHOUTING AT ME!' He shouts back and then Magnus shouts and races after Tootsie. The girls, because they are sensible, follow me, ignorant of the knowledge that one day I'm going to have the shrimping net with me so I can scoop them up and confine them to barracks so I don't have to play regular games of 'Hunt the Broody Nest' with them.
3) Letting Nellie and Nancy out of the hen house - 'Good morning, Nellie, good morning Nancy Pants' - I deliver the goodies, or in the absence of goodies, a scattering of layers' pellets. Magnus shouts, rather redundantly because by now everyone else is eating - 'HERE'S THE FOOD!' He then spends a considerable time either a) making overtures to Nancy, who regards him with disdain and sees him off with a precise peck to the head or b) scooting Tootsie away from the breakfast party. Nellie will then deliver the most enormous poo known to hendom.
4) May spends a lot of time by the water station (okay, it's an old bowl in the grass, but it serves the purpose) glugging back water to the point I wonder if hens can develop diabetes. Mollie has wandered off, no doubt to scope out her next cunning hiding place for the clutch of eggs she is intent on turning into a brood of chickens, 99% of which (by the Law of Sod) will be cockerels. Nellie and Tootsie can rival each other for skittishness and spend time trying to out-startle each other. Really, they put my nerves on edge, those two.
And I leave them to their daily perambulations, obsessively checking during the day that neither of the bantam hens has gone AWOL, because AWOL means BROODY, and I have to get my stick and poke all the hedges to flush out the nest and that takes a long time because we have a lot of hedgery. Nancy and Nellie, being over 3 years old now, and overly fat (no doubt because of the goodies), lay occasional and mahoosive eggs in the hen house. But they will lay them over the far side which means I pretty much have to climb inside to retrieve them. Eurgh...
Really, none of them earn their financial keep. But they entertain me enormously and bring life to the garden. I love that May is smaller than a pigeon and when she stands next to Nancy it is like looking at a chicken version of The Krankies. I love that Tootsie makes a big deal of climbing on a fence post to crow and then produces a squeak like a small child blowing a toy trumpet. I like how they all stroll around like a wide boy posse, yet if one of them wanders off track they all panic and have to regroup. I like that when I go into the garden they all come running towards me because they think I have something for them.
And one day it will be that shrimping net...
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