I got up during the night and looked out on the side verandah to see that Boy had carefully pulled a clean blanket off the laundry table and dragged it, still neatly folded, to his sleeping spot and was curled up with Honey, snoring happily, right next to Ethel and Henrietta, who were snoozing with their heads tucked under their wings by his side; three feet away, Smokey slept in the chook roost, looking like a Russian hat. I couldn't get a photo. It looked like a disorganised nativity scene.
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