5am, a hideous croaking noise. Not from me or Mr B. The dogs drag themselves from their beds, and stand at the window. I sit up in bed and can just about make out the chickens, protesting loudly that they are awake and hungry, and what the hell are we all doing still in bed?
They see me get up and start to cluck gently. I pull my wellie boots on (they go rather well with my PJs), and the Boxer dogs and I trundle down the bottom of the garden. The dogs soon abandon me, in favour of doing their business, the hens wait impatiently.
'Good morning, ladies' I sing to them. Murmurs of appreciation from the hungry two. Soon, order and quiet is restored, mugs of tea back in bed, happy dogs snoring away.
Good morning!