My Unrest Saturday

Not quite like Clovis in The Unrest Cure by Saki but a tale of non-routine nevertheless:
My Saturday routine was totally disrupted today, but in a good way. Usually I wake up and after a lot of coaxing haul my body out of the pit and drag it down the hallway, throw on the kettle, go outside and say hello to the cats and dog and off to let the hens out. Then back inside to make a pot of tea and sit at the table with the week’s papers for about two hours until the dregs of the tea are consumed. Then if it is mild outside to weed and read until the kids complain of hunger and I make lunch. After lunch I watch sport, whatever is available – today would have been Wimbledon female final, well-done Serena!
How my Saturday started today? To start with as soon as I arrived into the den four frolicking kittens and six chirping chickens confronted me. Because I don’t live here during the week I had forgotten about the new arrivals and guilt swathed over me. How could I forget my beautiful Black Minorcan hen had been sitting on fourteen eggs for the last three weeks or so. She has the sleekest feathers, the Rhode Island Reds are very productive but Morrigan is the Madonna of hens. I spent the next half hour cooing and stroking the six surviving chicks; two yellow, happy to appear in Easter cards anywhere, three brown/ orange, already the chunkier of the hicks and one that I think will take after the mother. In a sideward there are two angelic chicks already breathing their last day’s air, Séan had spent three days trying to get them to feed, he put little splints on their buckled legs to try to get them to take their first steps but after consulting Ms Extreme Wise Caroline he decided to let them pass way naturally, Mr Farmer Knows Best James told him to throw them in the cess pit to encourage breakdown bacteria but he didn’t have the stomach and I love him for it. They were named Hilary and Shawshank by the children and will be buried tomorrow after chapel.
The naming ceremony of all the animals in our care takes place on a Saturday when everyone is available. Ross is in Anchorage at the Hope Centre so he couldn’t take part. I thought about ringing him but he cut me off last week because it was too early and I thought he might have had a late one because of the 4th July celebrations. Although he is 22, it was to be the first naming without him. Two of the kids have difficulties with speech so it is vital to make the names different enough to distinguish them.
Back to my morning, he kittens distressed that all the time was being taken up with the chicks started a raucous mewing that the older cats outside could here. Three curious faces appeared at the window; Tarzan King of All He Surveys, Tasslehips and Tippitoes the Terrible were darting their eyes to me questioningly and then to the kittens in the playpen. I could just imagine them chatting to each others questions and comments flying back and forth:
What are they?
Kittens, obviously.
From where?
Did your mother teach you nothing?
Yeah but, who’s are they?
Ours.
Well I didn’t have them
Me neither.
Nor me.
How come they’re inside?
We don’t get to go inside
Not even in winter.
Well I do, mum takes me in for cuddles
Oh Tassie you’re the baby and a girl
Not any more
Does that mean I’m not allowed, oh no
Will we have to share our food?
I am king of the turf shed – they can go in with you
I wonder what they’re called
All in good time little one- look Mum is getting The Book
That’s where all the names go
Oh
Come on it’s breakfast time..

They were right of course I was getting the book down, but I needed a strong cup of coffee to start going through it. Séan and Aaron joined me at the table as we recounted tales of all the animals and children that had lived or almost lived in our family since it’s inception starting with Ghost, the blind cavefish, Ross Daniel first born child, and Pollianski Pie Cake, her children Sukey and Baldrick. Then there is quite a long gap of living beings because we travelled around the UK and Ireland until the day Ross asked to attend the same schook for more than one year. We settled then and haven’t moved since, well Ross has moved to Tralee and I live in Cork part time. Pootle was the first baby that didn’t make it to breathing Bozo was the second. Séan Michael James came next along with a hole of host birds, hamsters, fish and gerbils with associating names like, Rosie and Jim, Zig and Zag, Zeberdee, Hermione, names after the late great Christie Hennessy’s daughter and my fragile short lived albino zebra finch, Snowy. Séan arrived and reminded me of the time Hermione escaped into the skirting boards and didn’t come out for three weeks. When eventually she arrived out, covered in dust she scared Ross half to death, he thought it was her ghost.
Eventually we got to the current page and started to toss around names:
Tigger Wriggle
Toucan U Can
Trouble T Mill
Typhoon Mary
Tramp
Lady Tramp
As always cats names began with a T. We finally decided on Sir Tramps alot for the mostly black, Tequila Sunrise Tahiche and Twinkle Twinkle Likes a Tinkle for the twins and Thunderbolt the Cat Supermodel/ hero for the totally tabby. With the names in places for the cats we turned our attention to the hens, this was much harder because our hens are loosely named after Celtic and Norse Warriors and Gods, but we finally decided on Freya, Fulla, Hariassa, Sif ad Fulla for the two fluffy yellows, Freya and Hariassa for the fat browns and Baldr for the possibly black one.
Our task over we celebrated in Ballyvourney and then onto Future Forests the best garden centre in our opinion in Munster. Finally a stop on the Beara Peninsula for a paddle off the rocks and then home, which took quite a while, the Ring of Kerry cycle was on and with 3000 competitors there was quite a delay.
After my unrest Saturday I loo forward to the routine of chapel then Cork tomorrow.