After almost four years during which my attempts to persuade Mrs Crox that having
dinosaurs chickens running around your garden will turn it into a desert have come to naught, she has finally – FINALLY – realized that the best thing to do with chickens dinosaurs is put them in a chicken run secure enclosure.
Most of the chickens haven’t really noticed the new enclosure. However, the three likely-looking birds at the front have formed an Escape Committee. I’ve seen them standing on piles of bricks, eyeing the top of the fence to see if it’s within flapping distance. These creatures have intelligence. Problem-solving intelligence. The ringleader appears to be this one
who got out several times without conspicuous use of either gym equipment or a
unicycle motorbike. It turned out she was squeeeeezing herself beneath a gap in the fence which I hastened to block. However, I have since plugged other gaps, and the fact that the bunnies seem to go in and out without any trouble suggests that the chickens might be turning to them for advice.
The rest of the Jardin des Girrafes, meanwhile, is beginning to recover. It’s so nice to be able to walk down the garden path wihout slipping in a slick of dino-poo. The soil, however, bears witness to the constant input of nitrogen. After making the chicken run I replanted some shrubs. Any and every hole I dug was just full of worms. Big, fat, juicy, squirming earthworms. Above the ground it’s Jurassic Park – below, it’s Tremors.