Anna Jackson
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  • Home
  • Poems
  • Books
    • Pasture and Flock
    • I, Clodia, and other portraits
    • Thicket
    • The gas leak
    • Catullus for children
    • The pastoral kitchen
    • The long road to teatime
    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
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8/3/2020 0 Comments

8 March

Another peaceful weekend in and out of the coop and hen politics are so well managed within the flock it is hard to know what there will be to write about over the winter.  Wilma still tends to maintain a little distance from the rest of the flock, out of a sort of timidity that perhaps also involves a degree of pride, a kind of dignity, that won't allow her to push herself forward.  If she is hungry enough (under Simon's care, for instance) she will eat out of a single bowl with the others, but she prefers otherwise to wait her turn, or select pellets from where they are scattered on the ground.  Goldie will get out of her way if she does push forward, whereas Wilma is wary of Mabel, and Wilma and Maude both seem wary of the other, wary and a little hostile, so that either one of them might making a warning sound at the other, or even aim a peck their way.  The three small hens are firm friends with each other, with Maude and Mabel still particularly keen to stay together always, and Goldie more independent, sometimes following Wilma, sometimes going her own way entirely.  She is also the hen who most likes to perch and will perch anywhere, on a door, on a branch, a few centimetres off the ground in the feijoa tree.  
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