My chickens do care about my sleep.

A bit of background.

I have one rooster and three hens. One evening shortly after they became members of this family Mussolini led his crew into the bathroom in the kitchen and ever since they spend the night there. Whatever.

Needless to say that every time one of our neighbourhood’s rooster feels communicative in the middle of the night, opinionated Mussolini lets them know what he thinks of the subject.

I usually wake up very early and as soon as the first daylights appear in the sky I open the house door and the fantastic four walk out in a more or less chaotic formation.

The other day I had far too many beers the night before and although I opened my eyes at around 6.15am my comatose state allowed me to only do that —open my eyes. The rest of my body was as good as dead.

Looking out of the corner of my eye I could see the mormon family pacing up and down my bedroom door and I could hear them chatting with each other in a very low voice obviously badmouthing the unreliable bitch —me. I could also listen the roosters around us going on like Pavarotti.

Mussolini? Not a single peep. Nothing. The drama queens? Total zen —all of them just muttering while checking up on me every couple of minutes.

This went on until 7.45am when I finally managed in a very silent house to get some energy together and crawl down the bed to the house door and open it.

My chickens do care about my sleep —if only when they can actually SEE I’m sleeping.

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