Proud Mother

I just went down to reception to see if I might be able to change my room for one at the rear of the hotel. I had been talking on the ‘phone to a friend in Lisburn, and she was struck by the noise of the traffic. It was noisier downstairs. They have a singer who is belting out recent hits. Now I know he’s there, I can hear him behind the traffic noise. His set finishes around eleven thirty. I am almost tempted to ask Cousin to collect me so I can sleep in the calm of the country side just a few miles away.
I’d also like to see the newest member of the family again. It was born this morning. It because we don’t yet know the gender. I don’t have a picture of this infant but I do have one of the proud mother.

I had been a bit surprised when I was told she was sitting on some eggs. There’s no cockerel and although one virgin birth is widely celebrated, the idea of the second coming being a chick seems rather sacrilegious. Unless there is a special type of hermaphrodite hen I have never heard of.
But it turns out the hen was broody, and a neighbour along the road with hens and a cockerel, obligingly supplied three eggs. One of those three was pushed aside by the hen, so the guess is that it has no chick. She was still sitting on the third this afternoon.
There was a lull in the steam of traffic just now, and i could hear the singer clearly. Perhaps cars are easier to fall asleep to than a microphoned crooner. I shall count my blessings and see if I can locate my earplugs.