Regular readers will recall that Trevor's birthday lunch last week featured the house rooster.
This week, Mr. Ngoma decided we needed a rooster after all, if we want chicks instead of just eggs. According to the household staff, this is exactly what we want. (I kind of wish they had told me this before we decided to eat the rooster, but whatever.)
We decided this at lunch, and as the ladies and I were merrily embroidering on the veranda (I know, is this 1800 or what?) some guys appeared (sent by Trevor and Ngoma, who were walking the dog together) with a basket full of roosters, 15 pin each ($3). Stella (the guard) pawed through the sqwaking birds to choose the best one-- she rejected white, brown, and spotted ones in favor of a blue-black guy who mewls like a cat. She chucked him into the chicken yard, where he was immediately set upon by 8 grumpy females. Last time I checked, he was hiding in the house.
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