Gleaning

It is often surprising, even to me, how slowly the cogwheels grind in this Euphemistic brain.

We have been wondering about how best to purchase bedding for the chickens. They are currently on a wire basket filled with straw.

It looked like a trip to the local pet shop to buy a bag of bedding at a ridiculously inflated price, when memory dawned!

"Our Euphling," I called in my best times is hard voice, "Go into t'back field and pick a basket of straw for t'chickens bed!"

He disappeared, returning with basket as commanded, but also with two big pink binbags under his arm.

"There's tons left in there," he muttered, "I may as well pick enough for the next few weeks while I'm at it!"

Ding went the penny as it finally dropped. He's not a bad lad.

Not strictly speaking gleaning, I know, and the farmer has baled all the straw he is going to in that field. It would be rather nice to find enough left-over barley to make a small batch of home-brew, though.