Ian, Liam and Seamus have spent several days demolishing and then reconstructing our Poultry Palace. Last year, a rogue raccoon staged a coup, breached the palace's defences and attempted to massacre the entire Royal Family of Hen. There were only five survivors.
This spring, the Royal Guard has taken it upon themselves to construct an impenetrable fortress guaranteed to protect this year's royal youngsters.
With the palace renovations almost complete and spring just around the corner, we need to find ourselves some fertilized eggs containing our future royal family to place in our incubator. In theory, we could use our own eggs but I am less than confident in King Beemster's abilities as a flock fertilizer. His Majesty's modus operandi is to sidle up to his hen of choice, proposition her and then wait patiently for consent in the form of an obliging crouch.
If consent is not immediately forthcoming, Beemster is perfectly content to either strut along on his way or fall asleep while he waits for the hen to make up her mind. He may be a looker and who doesn't like a polite gentleman of a cockerel? But as far as ensuring that his genetics are passed down to the next generation, I am not sure that this is Beemster's forte.
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