On Saturday, Country Boy took Hannah to town. Her finger had blown up and looked infected, so it was off to the doctor. Yet another thing I find hard about living out here – a 40 minute ride to the doctors. While he was there, he picked up a few new chickens. Each year we try to get a few more, and we had lost a few over the last year, so needed some more.
When he arrived home, he had three new chooks, so each child carried one down to the cage. Toby immediately announced that his was called “front end loader” (to go with his other chicken ‘excavator’ I assume), which doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue! Five minutes later he changed his mind and named it Bommy-knocker. Not sure that it is much of an improvement.
Meg spent some time considering the name for hers. Possibilities included Megalosaurus, and Archyoptrix, after her favourite dinosaurs (of course), before settling on Pally which is meant to be short for palaeontologist.
Hannah chose Isla, giving me hope that at least one of my children are capable of choosing proper names , but later changed it to Brownie.
So there we go. Three new farm residents. Brownie, Pally, and Bommyknocker. I know grand children are a bit of a way off, but I’m already a little concerned about their names!
Do you let your kids choose names for their pets? Got any good ones???