Toyz 4 Henz

Okay, I admit it. I finally succumbed to snailicide. I'm not ashamed. I feel the need to feed my hens wholesome protein (especially the floppy-combed one a.k.a Mrs Slocombe) far outweighed the protestations of Andy and Heather that it was not the done thing to assist snails from their shells by bashing them with a hammer. On the day we brought the snail mass back from the allotment and after watching the girls' ineffectual attempts to persuade the snails to be eaten, I crept into Cluckinghen Palace when no-one was looking.

'Gather round,' I said to the hens. We all huddled around the half-a-paving slab that sitting next to the food bowl.
'Now,' I said. 'Watch carefully. This is what you do.' And, with the hens all watching intently and taking notes, I selected a snail from the box, placed it on the sacrificial stone and gave it a whallop with a rock. So strictly speaking I didn't use a hammer. The snail immediately spread itself over a wide and flat area and Mrs Slocombe leapt forward and ran off with the spoils.

'So that's how it's done,' said Mrs Miggins. 'Not sure how we're supposed to hold a rock in our feet though.'
'Shall I crack open a few more for you?' I said. 'Or perhaps you'd prefer them sauteed in garlic butter and served with wholemeal toast?'
'If you wouldn't mind,' said Miggins.

I'm not sure which one of us would win in a sarcasm throwing competition but I bet it would be a pretty close thing...

It's difficult not to look furtive when squatting around a paving stone with four chickens bashing snails to death with a rock and I was soon rumbled. I could tell Andy wasn't wholly keen on my actions but I remain resolute. If the hens need protein via the medium of freshly crushed snail, then that is what they shall have. As long as I never hear the screams...

So Andy has now got a great idea. When picking up fresh pet food supplies yesterday he noticed that whilst your cat/dog/rabbit/budgie are all well provided for in the pet toy department, there is NOTHING for your pet chicken.
'I am going to develop a range of toys for chickens,' he announced. 'And I shall start with a little hat onto which will be attached a tiny hammer. Chickens will be able to wear the "hammer hat" and bash their own snails.'
'I was hoping they might work out how to use their beaks,' I said.
Andy laughed. 'Where's the fun in that?' he said. 'No, the "HammerHat" is the way to go.'
He then went on to suggest he make a human-size version for me to wear at trade fairs for demonstration purposes. I made a few suggestions of my own regarding husbands cooking their own dinners if they made their wives wear silly "HammerHatz 4 Henz' (as they are now known) in public.

And then I had an idea of my own.

'How about this,' I said. 'Get a salad spinner,' (I had to stop at this point to explain to Heather what a salad spinner was. She seemed impressed so that's this year's Christmas present for her sorted), 'and fill it with dust. Get the hen to climb inside and then turn the handle vigorously. Instant chicken dustbath!!'

Andy and Heather looked at me, open-mouthed in admiration at this stroke of creative genius.

'Actually,' said Andy, 'we are staring open-mouthed because what you've just suggested it possibly not a very nice thing to do to a chicken.'

'They'll love it,' I say. 'It'll be like Alton Towers only cheaper and without the queues. Think of the adrenaline rush they'll get.'
'I can think of plenty of other things they'll get, too,' said Andy. 'Now, back to my 'HammerHatz for Henz...'

So there we go. That's how we are going to make our millions. Toys for chickens.

No laughing at the back, please.