NGHARED! COME HERE! Leave it!”
The deerhound looked guiltily over her shoulder at her person and with a final sniff at the swearing chicken, turned and slipped back behind him into the house.
“Are they hatching?” Marc called from the carport, getting his bag and jacket out of the back seat of the car. He was on his way back from a job interview at the local hospital.
“Yes! I think so! I can hear cheeping!” Mal called from the porch. “And I’ve just tried to slide a hand underneath her and she’s drawn blood!”
Marc had never heard anyone so delighted about receiving an injury before.
He dropped his things on the stone step and crouched beside the nest behind the discarded wellies. “Hello, Mrs Chicken!” he said.
She tilted her head to one side and made an alarming caaaaark caaaaark ca
