Friday the 13th
Posted by Fiona Nevile in Cottage tales | 45 comments
photo: Mrs Boss on the nest again
My stepfather had an uncle who always stayed in bed on Friday the 13th .
“The whole day?” Aged nine, I was amazed.
“Yes, all day. He also used evaporated milk in his tea. To avoid too many trips to the shops, I expect.”
My stepfather never revealed the name of this uncle but I had a clear picture of him. Firstly the bed. An single iron bedstead with stretchy mattress (no wife would put up with the evaporated milk). The carpet slippers nestling on the lino under the bed ready for shuffling trips to the kitchen. The chipped teapot, its belly scorched with the patina of years of tea making (leaves not bags). Endless bachelor suppers of Fray Bentos tinned pies and cans of mushy peas.
Each Friday the 13th I think about this nameless eccentric uncle. As the years roll by I become more and more intrigued by this character. Did he ring in sick every Friday the 13th when he was working? Or did he take it as annual leave. Studying the calendar and marking these days off with big round rings. And how did he pass his day? Somehow I sense an old radio beside the bed and him dressed in pyjamas (the ones with the cotton trouser ties) leafing through a pile of copies of the local free newspaper that he had carefully put in a convenient pile beside the front door over the preceding weeks.
I’m always a bit apprehensive about Friday the 13th. Although I have survived them for over fifty years.
This morning I went down to the chicken run and I opened the door. As always, I counted the flock as they erupted into the run. One was missing.
I opened the roof of the nesting box and discovered Mrs Boss had died in the night. One wing was stretched out over the nest of eggs.
She was a great favourite of ours and mother to broods of guinea fowl, runner ducks and chickens.
Like my stepfather’s uncle she stayed in bed on Friday the 13th but just didn’t wake up.
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So sorry to hear about Mrs Boss. I always loved reading your posts about her. And so poignant that she had her wing over the eggs…
So sorry to hear of the loss of Mrs. Boss. She will indeed live long in my memory. She was a grand mum to those she loved.
oh god this is awful! i don’t know how you must be feeling it must be off the scale.I got so very attached to that hen through you’re writings. this is truely sad news and i’m sorry for you’re loss. Right now seems to be a common time for folk to be dying. I’ve lost count of the losses i’ve had/heard about recently.
Oh how sad! I’m so sorry for your loss, I’ll miss reading your stories of her.
So sorry about Mrs Boss, B and D. Will be so sad not to read about her anymore. Love to you both. Alice x
I hadn’t even realised it was Friday 13th and wondered why you were writing about it. Such a lovely story about the old uncle but what a shcok ending. So sorry – it’s always so hard when a loved pet dies, they are part of the family and sadly missed. But at least she was happy in life and died peacefully. We’ll all miss hearing about her. She looks so gentle sitting on the nest in the picture. Love to you both.X
Eccentric uncles are the best. Every family should have one. Thanks you for putting this story down. Really nicely told – so evocative. RIP Boss Lady.
It sounds as if Mrs Boss died as she lived. I shall miss hearing about her exploits but not as much I imagine as you will miss her company.
S
Bless her. And she died still protecting her eggs..!
Dear me, what a dreadful shock!
So very sorry to hear about your loss, Fiona. She was a superstar hen & will be sadly missed by all your readership.
I’ve never thought of Friday 13th as particularly unlucky; & when I opened the Dairy Complex doors this morning to be greeted by the sounds of a goat in labour, thought what a fortuitous start to the day it was.
Wattie was getting down to business quite nicely on her own; so I quietly observed. However to my dismay, after some straining her first kid slithered out, lifeless. He was stillborn, not even the merest flicker of a heartbeat. The poor mother nickered softly to the silent form, nudging, licking but to no avail.
The second kid – a huge boy – came out kicking; however later in the day it transpired his hind legs were clearly deformed; so sadly, the kindest thing will be to put him to sleep, as soon as possible.
Just when I was giving up hope a third kid literally flopped out….a little girl, alive & well. Let’s just hope she makes it.
At least Mrs Boss died peacefully in her sleep – the way I’m sure we would all choose to go. A fitting end, for a fine hen.
J xx