As always a long time between blog entries. And I seem to have blogged about hens before but NOW we are the proud owners of three chickens. Harina, Max and Marigold. Not obvious names – apart from Marigold – and I don't know where Harina came from. Kepler thought of it after deciding against Hank. Hank had been a favoured name until that point for every insect that he captured. It sounds Morrocan but I don't know. Max was named after our friend Max who was over here when we went to buy the hens at the market. Kepler decided Max was a good name because Max is black ... Kepler thinks Guy is black too ... and the hen is black – ergo Max.

On Helen's advice they were locked in the hen hut for a week to acclimatise. Apparently once they know their house they don't wander too far from it. That has proven to be true. They are actually very sweet in their own way. They definitely have their own personalities but they haven't as yet sorted out their pecking order. I have seen quite a few skirmishes. For direct descendants of the mighty tyrannosaurus they are quite... chicken? They tend to keep to the hedge – for cover I presume but when I go out into the garden they get a little braver and venture out into the open.

Yesterday I was digging up a patch in the garden to transplant Kepler's abandoned giant (not yet) sunflower seedlings and I felt that goose-fleshy weird sensation of being watched. I turned round and they were standing right behind me. Six pairs of very beady eyes on me. It was truly a Gary Larsen moment.

No eggs yet. Alyosha pointed out that it probably would have been cheaper just to buy the eggs what with the hen house, the feeders, the feed, a water dispenser and the chickens.

We have had the talk with Kepler about eating them. His chin trembled and he said he could never eat a chicken again. My response was that if having chickens meant that he was going to stop eating them then they would be back at the market pronto. Since we do eat chicken wouldn't it be better to know that they had had a happy life? He ageed to this provided we didn't eat Harina. She has no idea how lucky she is.

So ... NO ... that is neither Harina nor Max nor Marigold cooked to a delicious golden crisp. That is "Fatty". Anonymity makes eating flesh so much easier I think as I wipe the golden meat juices off his chin.