The Chicken Who Drops by for Cheese and a Chat

I've had to abandon my theory that the Chook is a secret crime fighter and/or international political fixer. The more mundane reason for her increasing absences turns out to be that she was slowly moving in with the chickens three houses up. In my heart of hearts, I suspected as much, for I would hear a great, fowlish hullabaloo in the distance, and about five minutes later, the Chook would turn up in the garden with ruffled feathers and an angry attitude. But she was lonely, I could tell from the way she smooched up to the cats all the time, and the call of her own kind was a strong one. As a most stubborn chicken of independent mind who usually gets what she wants, she kept at it and wore the flock down, much the same way she in the end had me jumping up to answer her knocking or clucking at the kitchen door each morning. Anyway, I think it's safe to say that after eighteen months of co-habitation, the Chook doesn't live here anymore.

She does, however, pop by to visit us once or twice a week, as she did this fine Sunday morning. I  heard her imperious call, and like any good hostess, immediately jumped to and put out the cheese and sunflower seeds. I suspect it's the cheese that brings her back - her new home might not be sufficiently catering for her deep love of dairy products. They're probably not even aware of it. It was her habit of bossily pushing in to nick Cooper's cheese cubes (and since he loves his cheese too, Coopie wasn't happy about sharing) that tipped us off in this household. That, and her practically diving into the cats' milk bowl.

A visiting routine is gradually settling into place. Once she's sufficiently fed and watered, the Chook then hangs around the kitchen for old time's sake, contentedly follows the cats about for a while, takes a quick tour of the house if she can sneak in, loudly clucks and complains about goodness knows what, checks the garden for tidbits, and after a final sip of milk and goodbye cluck, she slips away again, back to her new, and obviously more satisfactory (I'm not good enough any more *sniff*), life in the company of her feathered kin. Part of me is chuffed she wants to keep up the contact. Another part of me suspects, complicated creature that she is, that the Chook is just keeping her options open in case the new joint doesn't work out to her satisfaction. She's like that. Cute but devious.

Gypsy. Waif. Free spirit. Freeloader. Manipulator. Charmer. Warrior. Greedy guts. Whatever her guise, the Chook has always been the ultimate free-range chicken.