I can't see the charm of chickens and I'm certainly not smitten with the sound of cockerels. I used to live next door to one and it drove me bananas; if I'd had access to a gun I'd have used it and to hell with the consequences. In the end we moved house before I could commit cockicide.Whenever someone complains about the incessant noise of a crowing bird (and if you think they only do it at dawn, think again), some local comes up with the same tired old retort - if you don't like the sounds of the country, don't live there. No doubt that was a valid argument fifty years ago. That was before the greedy farmer telling us to pipe down sold off his land for development and allowed us townies to gain a foothold in his supposedly rural idyll. You can't have it both ways - farm the land, make noise (and smell), keep chickens - sell the land, make money, keep your mouth shut.
Incidentally there's usually a flock/herd/gaggle of chickens in my path as I cycle on my way to Pershore. They scatter in all directions as I approach. I'll get one of them some day.
3 comments:
farm girl that i am, i can smell the straw and chicken duff. somehow the cock in the foreground reminds me it's time for bed soon.
Cocks do have that effect, don't they? Pardon me, I couldn't resist the easy joke, didn't even try, actually.
What a lovely picture, though. And the story with it, bubbling over with anti-chicken sentiment, was such a nice counterpoint to the idyllic image.
Many thanks for the comments - I do eat a lot of chicken so I can't be too condemning!
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