The surgeon I did a list with yesterday is lovely to work with, smart and well respected by everyone except his teenage daughter it seems.
She and her mum were away for a few days this week, checking out universities, and he was left home alone, in charge of the house and various pets. It was only an hour after the flight left that one of the chickens escaped. He had the whole neighbourhood out helping him look, to no avail. I can just imagine his daughter’s eye roll when he phoned them to deliver the bad news. “Come on, dad! They’re just chickens! It’s not rocket science!” (He’s a brain surgeon). When they got back a few days later, it only took his wife half an hour to find the escapee – she’d got out through a tiny gap in the fence and had made a nest under a shrub in the neighbours garden. There were 16 eggs in it, so it was clearly a long term project.
For his failures in animal husbandry, the poor man was assigned to urgent enclosure repair duties.
I’m sure he comes to work for a rest.