We were told it never snows in this part of France, and yet this morning we wake up to a thick blanket of snow.
We make our way as usual towards the chicken coops to get the hay and the feed for the goats (we figured out that we need to feed the goats first, otherwise they don’t get a single bite to eat because the chickens, lead by the new rooster who appears to have no shame, have worked out that they can get a second breakfast chez the goats).
It is still snowing heavily when we get to the goats huts. Obviously, they are going to get breakfast in bed.
Once we feed the goats, who are content to share food and stay inside for the rest of the day, we go over over to the chickens. ‘Be ready to take a photo when I open the door,’ says Alistair. The chickens usually wait in formation by the door and dash out like mad as soon as the door opens. But oh, wait, today, they all stop in front of the door, detracted by the sight of the unusual white blanket.
Minus Bryony who flies out straight from her perch (as it is her habit) and into the thick snow.
She seems a bit confused for a few seconds but continues her trek through the snow, proving to be the only brave member of the avian contingent.
Meanwhile, the rest of the gang are stuffing their faces on the extra portion of corn, figuring out that staying inside on a day like today is definitely not a bad option.
Contrary to his character, the cat requests to be let out too but appears only a few seconds later at the terrace door looking distraught.
Once inside, he appears to make a pact with himself to stay indoors and pester me for food or find unusual places to sleep (ie. my work notebook).
And they said it never snows here!
