Lucette and Maud–our odd couple

It’s nearly nine in the morning; Lucette and Maud are up and ready to face the day, but seem in no hurry–content to scuffle around, chatting to themselves, making the usual plans.

They have passed the night in their little house nestling in the coop between buttresses on the northwest side of the church.

Our friend Thomas built the coop while the little split-level house inside was a gift from our friends Flo and Thierry. (Foxes, weasels and buzzards are a threat!)

Lucette has the upstairs, Maud the ground floor.

Maud hesitates as I open up and waits for Lucette to descend to ground level before shooting through the opening to the day beyond. Lucette follows at a more measured pace.

She is the larger of the two and usually leads the dance, with Maud content to follow in her wake.

Our pair of chickens, each with her own likes and quirks, ways and daily rounds, begin another day, mirroring all the days that have gone before, since the odd couple arrived here about one year ago. They are creatures of habit.

I secure the doors and watch two bobbing feathered behinds pecking their way up the path, past the tomato patch.

The pecking order operates only by virtue of Lucette’s longer legs; Maud, if it really matters to her, will put in a spurt of her short-legged bobbing waddle to outpace Lucette to that tasty morsel.

The odd two were three; but one day, when I went to close up in the evening I found a flat pancake of feathers near the door to the pen.

Poor Amber had hit red–she was dead.

No sign of an attack or any aggression, simply the image of a life departed. The end.

It was distressing–but also a relief that it appeared to have been natural and peaceful.

The magnificent Amber

The three hens came from a life in Montpellier on the Med, to the southwest of us.

They are breeds called Negra Soi or Silkies (Maud) and Araucana (Lucette).

Lucette, the larger one, is supposed to lay beautiful blue eggs.

In her time here, she has produced only ONE, small egg–albeit BLUE!
I made the smallest omelet in the world which Meredith and I shared.

Eggs are not the reason we delight in our odd couple. It’s simply THEM and their ways.
Lucette is always on the lookout for handouts–tilting her head coyly as she catches my eye.

“I’m here…”

She’ll take advantage of an open front door, nipping in to sample the cat food, which she relishes, and knows is often leftover–no flies on Lucette.
Graciously she shows her appreciation by leaving evidence of the visit.

“OOMPH!–delicious thanks so much.”

She is the more companionable of the two, often just hanging out with us.
Maud keeps her counsel, content to peck her way to a full stomach in the courtyard.
They usually siesta together under the old henhouse–hens with a sense of the past.

It’s perfect shade, and a place of safety from circling hawks and buzzards.

The cats keep a wary distance and are no threat to Lucette and Maud, who early on made it clear–with a fluttering of wings–that they would take no messing.

Ben–on higher ground–keeps a wary eye

None of the six cats have ever shown any inclination to “mess“.

At dusk, they retrace their steps and head for the tomato patch where they have a soft earth bath in a favourite place, nicely warmed by the afternoon sun.