Dolly and the Chicken

My mother has a neighbour downstairs called Dolly and every time Dollykins goes on holiday, something happens.  There was the time she gave my mother a key to keep an eye on the house and water the plants. No problem  with that until the doorbell rang at 4 o'clock the next morning and there was Dolly's gentleman friend standing there sheepishly asking for the key because Dolly had forgotten her passport and had sent him from the airport to find it. 

 

Then there was the time my mother thought Dolly had already gone on holiday and she went round to her back garden to water the plants.  Being a little bit nosey (did I really say that?), she peered through the back window and got the fright of her life.  There was a body lying on a table with a white sheet wrapped around it.  My mother was quite shaken up and didn't know what to do.  I think she thought Dolly had died. Then the body moved - eek!  It turned out to be one of Dolly's clients.  She wasn't going on holiday until the next day and she had a client for aromatherapy massage or some such thing. My mother made a hasty exit and scuttled back up the stairs.

Then there was the time when Dolly asked my mother to feed the fish (major panic about killing them) and another time when the house alarm kept going off and she got into a panic trying to remember the code each time. 

 

The other day, Dolly was getting prepared to go on holiday again.  She phoned my mother and said "Betty, I've made a chicken and there's a lot of it left and I don't want it to go to waste.  Can I bring it up to you?"  My mother said she could bring it up and then wondered why someone living on their own would cook a whole chicken the day before going on holiday.  Anyway, the chicken duly arrived.  It was dried up and inedible.  Thanks for that, Dolly.  I told my mother to lob it over the wall or drop kick it into the back garden for a laugh.  My mother put the dried up chicken into the food recycle bin thingy and then she started fretting about possible scenarios.  What if Dolly got food poisoning from the chicken and then asked her if she had been okay?  What if the bin men dropped the food recycle bin and the chicken fell out and Dolly saw it on the drive when she came back from her holidays?  What if, what if, what if.  What if Dolly finds this blog when she's doing a Google search about what to do with leftover chicken?  NOTE TO MOTHER: If you are reading this, she won't find it in a million years. 

Squeak soon, mes amis





BREAKING NEWS....BREAKING NEWS.....BREAKING NEWS....

Henrietta, our water hen, has six babies.  I will try to get a photo but water hens are very shy.