Better late than never

One happy bantam and her new chick.

Twenty-two days ago, the Little Black Bantam was busy sitting on two eggs. For seventeen days she sat, moving only to turn her eggs every half hour. Then, on Day Eighteen, along came the Big Impatient Bantam, who had been eyeing up the eggs for weeks. With one swift peck, the Big Impatient Bantam kicked the Little Black Bantam off the eggs. All the Little Black Bantam could do was watch from the nesting box next door.

On Day Twenty-One, one of the two eggs hatched. The Little Black Bantam had barely any time to admire little Colonel before the Big Impatient Bantam whisked the chick off to the Brooding Box. The Little Black Bantam moved onto the one remaining egg, just in case.
Her perseverance paid off. The Little Black Bantam's wish finally came true. The lonely egg hatched this morning, on Day Twenty-Two. The rest of the gossipy bantams are thrilled at the new addition to the family. They have named the little chick De Lay.

Hatching plans...

Introducing McNugget...

McNugget, front centre, Benedict, left rear, and Scramble,
front left inside the egg.

McNugget's slightly younger sibling Benedict...

Benedict, front left, and Scramble, centre rear inside the
egg.

Scramble, still hatching...

Scramble, and shell.

And their estranged sibling Colonel...

Colonel

Colonel was fostered as an egg to a broody bantam who, after months of trying to hatch a golf ball, was excited to have a viable egg. Two days before Colonel hatched, a chicken coup took place, and Colonel's foster mother was evicted from the nesting box. A larger, less patient bantam seized the opportunity to go broody just before the egg hatched. Colonel now lives with two mothers, inside the chicken coop.

Colonel's siblings were hatched inside an incubator, and are currently sharing a bedroom in the farmhouse. Mr Farmer is of the opinion that they ought to be sent to live in foster care with Colonel, despite the slightly unstable family situation.

Love thy Neighbor

Bob, whose life was a black abyss.

Ewes of the World broke the scandalous story of Bob and Yortu's (second) break-up, in an exclusive, tell-all interview with Yortu. Such was the heartbreak and anguish that the gossipy bantams took time out from picketing to read the article, and Lecter even ceased his endless barking long enough to read the story in the dim light of his cell.

Shortly before the article went to press, Yortu was spotted fleeing Fiveacres with her and Bob's day-old son, De Sappeared*. The pair haven't been seen since.

Bob, Yortu's jilted lover, was devastated by the disappearance of De Sappeared and Yortu. So much so, that on a dark and stormy Tuesday evening, Bob was seen leaving Fiveacres Farm and wandering dejectedly toward the local Petitentiary. With his head hung low, and his caruncles blue with melancholy, he dragged one foot after the other up the steep (but beautifully-mown) hill, and stopped at the edge of the fence. He drew a heavy breath, and his brow furrowed with concentration. He flexed his wings and leapt, a little unsteadily, over the fence, landing with a loud thump on the deck by Lecter's cell.

Lecter, chained to his cell, had been so busy barking at an imaginary intruder that he hadn't even noticed the real one. At the sound of Bob's somewhat ungraceful landing, Lecter jerked his head up, and blinked. Perched on the deck in the driving rain was a turkey who looked just like Bob, that philandering turkey from Fiveacres who had made the front page of Ewes of the World. Lecter licked his lips, and rummaged around in his cell for some cranberry sauce.

All he found was a half-empty bottle of mint sauce.

Salivating, Lecter crouched, ready to pounce. A young shaver hen, watching the goings on from her nearby coop, shrieked in panic. Bob's eyes flicked up toward the hen, and he gasped.

Even in the pouring rain, the hen's glossy, rust-red shone. Bob's caruncles turned bright red. Who cared about some old turkey when there were hot young chicks out there? He was too young to die. Bob leapt, just in time, into a nearby tree. Seconds later, Lecter crashed with full force into the deck, the mint sauce bottle shattering on impact. Bob perched precariously on his branch, wondering if this time he really was stuffed.

At that very moment, the sound of a late-model european car pulling into the driveway caught Bob's attention. Bob exhaled - surely this was one of the prison guards, here to rescue him. The Neighbor, exiting his late-model european car, surveyed the chaos with horror. The deck was covered in turkey droppings. What would people think? Then the Neighbor's eyes settled on Bob, perched high in the tree, and a slow grin edged its way across his face. The Neighbor rubbed his hands in glee and pulled out his cellphone. Excellent, he said as he dialed Mr Farmer's number. Something else to complain about.

*If you haven't read Freakonomics, you really ought to.

Hens cry fowl over lay-offs

Angry left-wing socialists called for capitalism to be
eggstinguished.

Poultry of Albany's Chicken Executive Officer (CEO) this morning announced a plan to make all 12 laying hens redundant, and to hire a replacement workforce. The proposed restructuring comes after Poultry of Albany the workers' union Kollective For Chickens (KFC) demanded a colleggtive employment eggreement and pay increases of 2.5% - a demand made in response to Poultry of Albany's plans to double productivity, as measured by the number of eggs produced per day, from 6 to 12. Workers state that the proposed target of one egg per bird per day goes against the grain, and that the present laying roster system is a more realistic eggspectation.

After the announcement, Poultry of Albany workers scrambled to arrange a meeting with KFC representatives to plan strike action over the proposed redundancies. Said one hen, "Poultry of Albany will be left with egg on their face when production stops; the neggative publicity and pressure this will eggcert on them will make them crack."

A flock of left-wing socialists circling the farm with placards speculated that Poultry of Albany had plans to poach a specialized team of point-of-lay Brown Shavers from a neighboring farm. Egged on by the rumours, angry union members told reporters that they would not be beaten by Poultry of Albany's capitalism: "The proposed lay-offs are just an eggscuse to avoid having to shell out for what really is a poultry increase in wages."

Pork, sage, apple and cheddar meatballs (in loving memory of Detective Inspector P Igg)

Detective Inspector P. Igg down at the
Stytion, in happier days.

FIVEACRES Stytion today mourned the passing of Detective Inspector P. Igg, shot and fatally stabbed in an altercation with Mr Farmer. Farmer, returning from his paper round, was seen entering the Sytion with a .22 calibre rifle. Paramedics arrived on the scene but were unable to revive Igg: "He was bleeding like a stuck pig."
At the funeral, held today, mourners were wallowing in misery. Igg's colleague Constable S. Wine said in her euology, "[Igg] could be a bit pig-headed at times, and he liked to hog the limelight and boar you with his work stories, but his heart was in the right place, and he was focused on bringing home the bacon. He was our best interrogator; he really gave the suspects a grilling."
Farmer, who does not like to mince words, was unavailable for comment. Investigators could not confirm a motive, although sources suggest the pair's relationship sowered after Igg told Farmer a porky. A memorial pignic will be held this Sunday.

Pork, sage, apple and cheddar meatballs

250g pork mince
3 T breadcrumbs
1/2 medium onion, finely chopped
3 T aged, bandaged goat cheddar*, finely grated
sprig of sage, finely chopped (about 4 leaves)
1 small apple, peeled and finely grated
1/2 t salt

Mix all ingredients together, and shape into four large-ish balls (their size helps retain moisture). Bake in a 150°C oven for 40 minutes. Serve warm.

* Don't be put off. The cheddar just enhances the flavor, it doesn't hog the limelight.

Aged goat cheddar and tomato tart

Aged bandaged goat cheddar, pictured here with lavosh
and two chutneys. The tart itself looked lovely, but got
eaten before anybody could think about taking a photo.

This tart is the perfect accompaniment to any Summer-evening barbecue - we used our second ever aged bandaged goat cheddar, and adapted this recipe to suit the sweeter, tangier flavor of goat cheddar. With thanks to Helen, who produced the milk that made the cheddar, and Mr Farmer, for being on the taste-test panel.

Flaky Cheddar Pastry:

200 g white flour
50 g butter
50 g lard*
25 g aged goat cheddar**, finely grated
1/8 t cayenne pepper
1 t salt
dash freshly cracked black pepper
2 T water

Rub butter and lard into flour, cayenne and salt. Stir in cracked pepper, then mix in water. Leave to rest at room temperature for 15 minutes. Roll out, press into a shallow 26-cm (10 inch) pie tin - the trick is to make the sides extend only a little above the base, as the filling doesn't add much height, and the sides do overcook easily. Cover with baking paper (or tinfoil, if you're out of baking paper), fill with beans (or other small, weighty, oven-proof objects), and bake in a preheated 190°C (370°F) oven for 10 minutes. Remove the baking paper and beans, and bake for a further five minutes. Remove from the oven and leave to cool.

Filling:

6 medium-sized tomatoes, halved
salt, pepper and oil
1 egg
1 t dijon mustard
20 g aged goat cheddar**, finely grated
pinch of thyme

While your pastry is resting, put a little oil, salt and pepper in a baking dish, and place the halved tomatoes cut-side down on top of the oil. Bake for 10 minutes at 190°C (your oven should be conveniently preheated to this temperature at this stage). Remove from the oven and leave to cool - the tomatoes should be soft but not shapeless at this point. In the meantime, beat the egg, and mix with the dijon mustard, thyme and finely-grated goat cheddar. You'll end up with a rather thick mixture - don't panic; it is meant to turn out like this.

Once your pastry and tomatoes have cooled, remove the tomato skins (and cores), and slice the tomatoes in half again. Spread the egg mixture over the cooked pastry shell, then place the tomatoes on top. Cook in a 190°C oven for 20 minutes. You can serve the tart warm, but it really is nicest cold.

*you can use butter (or margarine) in place of lard, but lard makes a wonderful, light pastry.
 **actually, any old cheddar will suffice, but don't tell Helen.

Ewes of the World

If there's scandal on the farm, you can be sure that the Ewes of the World will be there to report it. Shortly before Christmas, they bought exclusive rights to Yortu and Bob's story about the disappearance of their seven chicks (that's why you didn't read about it in the Countryside Chronicle). Ewes of the World also broke scandals such as the Bob-Leghorn-Affair Debacle (exclusive interviews with the Leghorn, purported to have been hired as a nanny for Bob's unborn chicks), and featured an exclusive, tell-all piece on Lecter (who now alleges his dog-and-bone was hacked). They were also the driving force behind the rumors about Vindie-Lou's paternity.

Whitney (far right), alive and kicking, with Arethra (left, with
scurs) and Fritzl's Mum (centre).

The Gossipy Bantams are the primary source of revenue for Ewes of the World. If you visit the chicken coop on a Sunday morning, you'll find (amid the haphazard piles of old Ewes of the World papers with pages dog-eared and torn as a result of greedy, gossip-seeking bantam claws, and cross-words and sudokus filled out, albeit incorrectly) the Gossipy Bantams, glued to the day's copy of Ewes of the World, clucking quietly over the latest scandal.

On Sunday Feb 12, just after the Ewes of the World was delivered, raucous crowing filled the chicken coop. On the front page, Ewes of the World reported that Whitney had been found dead in a bath tub. Speculation was rife; had she been drinking from one of the troughs in the paddock, slipped on the trough-slime that Mr Farmer hadn't cleaned up, and fallen in? Was this the work of the Lecter-like attacker, or the Rural Ripper, trying to disguise the murder as a tragic accident? How would Nicole Ritchie cope with the loss of her mother? And what about Whitney's on-again off-again lover (and father of Nicole) Roger, still in the Intensive Care Unit?

Ewes of the World today issued a retraction. Whitney (pictured) is alive and well, although as a precautionary measure has opted to steer clear of the bathtub troughs and instead drink from the pond.