Hen Party

DD's kind folks have some grand old fruit trees in their garden. They generously share their bounty with us at this time of year. The intention is to make mountains of yummy apple sauce and other products for the freezer. A few remain as eaters and perhaps some could become cider.
The reality is that they end up fermenting in the bag in the larder. We become alerted to the process by the tiny black fruit flies taking up residence.

Darcy the Cad!

Personally I cannot stomach the scent of reasting fruit or veg. It makes me heave. Due to the warm autumn we have had, the shelf life of the fruit has not been very long, and at the first whiff of suppurating apples I was on to DD to dispose of the offending items.
Now, we both know how the egg laying committee love an over ripe pear. There would be Chicken crimes perpetrated in the garden for the possession of such a treat. Indeed, I believe if I only put one out we would see the beady, psychotic gaze of a pear crazed Pecky on Crime Watch. So the obvious answer, in DD's opinion was to give them to the girls (and the boys)
The problem was the advanced fermentation of the apples.
Happy reader, lend me your imagination for just a wee moment.
We have all been witness to the stereotypical image of teens on the loose in clubbing central. The intoxicated image of a rowdy crowd of otherwise sensible and responsible twenty somethings. Not to mention the WI on the sherry!
Now transfer that imagining to the hen house. Olly and Darcey with their wings flung about each other. All prior competition forgotten. The words slurring from their slackened beaks, "you're my best friend, you are". "I'll never have another friend like you. Let's never let the girls come between our friendship again"
Rosy and Pecky meanwhile, have climbed on top of the coop. Lifted their frilly leg feathers and are treating the others to their interpretation of the Folville Follies.  Meanwhile Snowbell looks on with disdain. Listing precariously towards a comatose Gwinn. "See, I always said that Pecky was a slut!"
Off in the distance we can just see the frilly, feathered knickers above the spallyed legs of Violet as she lays, hiccoughing with her nose in the dirt.
The following morning they come staggering out of the coop. Little chicken shades over their reddened eyes. Heaving at the sight of copious amounts of poultry corn. If you listen closely you can hear the whisper from Violet "I will never drink again!"

In truth, however, they wouldn't touch the apples and they have since dissolved into the veg bed! But, let's face it. That is nowhere near as funny :)