Mine, and those of a chicken.
Today we went shopping (noting that there were long queues at the petrol station at the supermarket, not a good sign), and bought a chicken. Not just a chicken, other stuff too, I mean. But the chicken is the star of today's show.
We got home, Mr WithaY carefully placed rat poison in the garden to hopefully see off the latest incursion of vermin, refilled the bird feeders to encourage a better class of wildlife, and then went into the garage to do terrible things.
While he was in there, I looked at the chicken and thought I'd tandoorify it. And then I thought, ahahahahaaaaaaa*, if I cut it up, it will fit better in the bowl to soak in the tandoori mixture. So I took it apart.
All nicely jointed and sectioned, with the legs and wings in the marinade and a few lovely fillets in the fridge for another day. Then I boiled up the carcase for stock with celery, onion, bay leaves and pepper. And once that was all boiled up, I picked off all the nicely poached bits of meat from the carcase and put them in another bowl to use in soup.
It was like an episode of Little House on the Prairie. But with no moral at the end. And fewer horses.
We went for a stroll this afternoon to return some loppers to a neighbour, who very kindly invited us in for a cup of tea. Then we sauntered through the village, scaled a fence** and went for a walk along the river, watching various ducks, swans, coots and a buzzard all going about their business. We found a trail of eggs, probably pheasant, all broken and emptied out, stolen from a nest by (I bet) a rat.
They really are bastards.
And then it was time to go and have a cream tea. They have a kind of open house thing every few weeks in the summer to raise money for charity. All very pleasant apart from the overwhelming stench of cowshit as we sat outside enjoying our scones and cream.
*I really did think that.
**A small one.