On our second night with six baby chicks, we couldn’t hear the TV. “Can you turn down the chickens,” said the Dimple. Peering into their box I found blood down the spine of one of them and the brood kept pecking the same bloody spot like it was pasta carbonara. I believe I squealed. Tedium … More Mean Girls has got nothin’ on our chickens.
Dear Susan In the interests of remaining mysterious, I may have been remiss with some facts. You’re not the only one to ask whether we live in a teepee. My expectations had been lowered to a ramshackle cabin – thanks to a game the Dimple likes to play called Wind Her Up – so I … More I’m Coming Back As A Pig.