The oxygen tanks are filling by the back door, but for now normal snorkelling gear is just enough to suffice in order to check on the chickens.
The c'lebs taking part in a trial of boredom and inane activities in the heat of Australia's Gold Coast, would do well to note how those further down the pecking order cope in similar conditions in the northern hemisphere.
The Sisters of Doom, my reliable elder stateswomen of the coop, represent the retired, once appeared on tele, chef, and Eric, a dour whiz of mental arithmetic capable of throwing a small spear accurately. Neither suffer fools gladly and nor do Smokey and Feathers, who can be very loud in their abuse of their underlings and are happy to send them outside in the wet to scour the ground for any choice titbits - providing of course that they then let the leaders of the pack eat whatever it is they've found.
Buff is my Helen. A cross between a bantam and a Buff Orpington, she fluffs about the hen run like a ballerina in full tutu, trying hard not to get her feathers wet and screeching whenever danger seems close - for Buff, like Helen, this is every other minute.
Bess, Phoebe, Ginger and the Troublesome Teens (by now probably suffering a mid-life crisis), happily represent the rest of the Snake Rock, or is it Crocodile Creek, gang; at times sitting for hours on perches inside and out and watching the world go by, at others scrabbling around frantically looking for food, or, alternatively, sheltering underneath a propped up pallet hoping for some protection from the outside world.
Today, not to be outdone by I'm a Celebrity..., we've thoughtfully added a challenge in the form of a Bushtucker trial. This entails wading through cold water, sticking their heads under the water to find the food dispenser, rummaging about to see if there is anything left and then re-emerging to either splutter or crow triumphantly with a soggy peckful.
To ensure that the bordeom levels in camp don't engage the attention of angry voters, I've jazzed up feeding time a little by putting some food at elevated levels: thus those brave enough to wade outside and then fly up on to a perch will find a couple of two day old roast potatoes balanced temptingly for their delectation. Melon rinds are suspended from the coop frame and some soggy rice waits for them under an outside shelter. I suspect that we are merely feeding the local rodent population, grateful for the dry ground and free grub, but at least I'm trying to keep my small flock entertained and none of them has been voted out of the roost yet.
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