325. Home alone (2)

 Edira put the cup down and stood up.

She walked across the room towards the French windows, peered outside. It was a moonless night yet she could see the bare branches of the trees swaying dramatically in the wind against a menacing sky. She put her hand on the glass pane. Icy. She should wear a coat, a scarf, a hat and gloves too. When she came back she looked - and felt  like a cosmonaut. Oh yes! Boots. She went back out to get her daughter's Uggs thinking these ugly things would be of some use. She pushed down a handle and opened the door. She gasped. The wind was so strong it took her breath away. How on earth was she going to make it across the patio and down the grassy lane towards the chicken coop? She went back inside.

'Am doing homework. What's wrong?'

She was relieved. At least she had not woken her teenage son up at 12:14 just making sure he was not staying up too late to do his homework that senseless teachers (her colleagues) were giving to these poor children who had much better things to do in the evenings. She felt proud of her son and of herself. That feeling unfortunately didn't last.

'What? You forgot? Again? Mum!'

He sounded exasperated instead of relieved. Had he really been doing homework?

'I can't think about everything. Come on, help, please.'

This time there was no hesitation. She followed her son down the garden path. She watched him as he opened the shed door. She counted all seven hens (all named after a day of the week) and was happy to see that none were missing. 

'They've got no food! When did you last feed them?'

'Am not sure ...' What Edira really wanted to say was do you have to feed hens? Don't they just pick worms from the soil? Yet she felt that now was not the right time to show interest.

'And the eggs?'

Edira noticed the hens were somehow disturbed in their rest by all this racket. What was this? A midnight party? A surprise party? Was the rooster they had been dreaming of finally moving in? One made a dull cluuuuuck. It sounded as if she had a sore throat, it was probably Thursday, she had a funny cluck.

'Mum! The eggs! Just like food. Every day.' 

She held the torch towards Monday. As her son started to lift the sleepy bird a little to collect the egg Edira took a step back. You never knew what a hen suddenly woken up in the middle of the night, expecting a male friend and finding humans acting weird could do.

'Mum, the basket. There, by the door.'

One. ... Two. ... Three. ... Three eggs.

'Mum!'

Monday had laid three eggs. There was the evidence: Edira had not done her job of feeding and collecting since Sunday. 

It took a little while to collect all the eggs form the seven hens. 

'We can make pancakes for breakfast every day of the week if you want!' She said cheerfully.

Her son was not interested. He was cold, and sleepy and probably also a little bit annoyed. He went back up to his room mumbling stuff Edira did not want to hear. She was so thrilled about all these eggs in her basket. Pancakes, maybe a quiche too and a cake. Tomorrow she'd bake a cake. This was excellent stuff keeping hens! She wished her husband had told her about that. She hesitated about making herself French toast and a cup of tea but decided that it would not be reasonable. Instead, with the brand new orange highlighter she coloured in all six lines in a oner on the complicated schedule. 

'There. Done.'

She smiled, pleased with herself and headed off to bed.