took down the details of several employers, including a care home, a print shop and another based on her new found confidence in providing manual assistance. She didn't expect a reference from Gilou and had no intention of asking him.
One morning, when she thought that she had the hang of working at La Gaillarde, she arrived to find Gilou hauling a large, perforated cardboard box out of the 4x4.
“You're late,” he said. “Help me with this.”
She took the box from his hands and he seemed surprised. Her arms were slender, but she was stronger than he expected, even after weeks of demanding work outdoors.
“Where do you want it?” she said, smiling a grin of triumph. She used the circular holes in the box to improve her grip.
“I wouldn't put your fingers in those holes if I was you,” Gilou said. “It might bite you.”
Charlotte screamed and let the box fall. The top burst open and an enormous, black cockerel charged across the garden.
Gilou sighed and shook his head in dismay.
“I want you to introduce yourself properly,” he said. “Then I want you to introduce him to the girls.”
The cockerel was heading straight to the chickens' enclosure. They darted about furiously and some of them hid underneath the henhouse, which she would have thought impossible if she hadn't seen it.
“Those poor hens,” she said.
“They need a man,” said Gilou. “You'll see.”
“Where will he sleep?” Charlotte asked, grimacing.
“With them,” Gilou said.
“Don't listen to him,” Charlotte said to the cowering hens. “You're beautiful just as you are.”
The black cockerel had fine feathers on its feet and an incredible spray of red and white feathers for its tail.
“You're beautiful too,” Charlotte admitted, “but don't let it go to your head. Without these ladies, you're nothing. Hear me?”
It spent the next hour running around the enclosure, chasing the hens and ultimately pinning them one by one, nipping painfully at the backs of their necks and sitting on top of them. A few seconds later it would jump off, triumphant, and the poor chicken would ruffle its feathers.
When the cockerel attempted to do this within three feet of her, she picked up a broom.
“Don't you dare,” Gilou yelled from the house. “This is nature. Don't interfere with nature.”
“This isn't nature,” Charlotte said. “It's porn.”
“Shh.”
He went back inside.
She swung the broom and the cockerel scrambled for the other side of the enclosure.
“Try biting me like that,” she said, “and I'll break your wings.”
It cowered in the shadow of the henhouse.
Despite her misgivings, however, the cockerel did seem to integrate with the hens over a course of days. The hens would follow him around, despite her protests to the contrary.
“As I said,” Gilou told her. “This is nature. For men to be dominant. And for women to do as they're told.”
“But chickens have very small brains,” Charlotte said. “And if you consider the size of that cockerel, you'll see that there's not enough oxygen getting to its tiny, tiny head.”
“... I don't understand you,” he said.
“That's what I'm talking
One morning, when she thought that she had the hang of working at La Gaillarde, she arrived to find Gilou hauling a large, perforated cardboard box out of the 4x4.
“You're late,” he said. “Help me with this.”
She took the box from his hands and he seemed surprised. Her arms were slender, but she was stronger than he expected, even after weeks of demanding work outdoors.
“Where do you want it?” she said, smiling a grin of triumph. She used the circular holes in the box to improve her grip.
“I wouldn't put your fingers in those holes if I was you,” Gilou said. “It might bite you.”
Charlotte screamed and let the box fall. The top burst open and an enormous, black cockerel charged across the garden.
Gilou sighed and shook his head in dismay.
“I want you to introduce yourself properly,” he said. “Then I want you to introduce him to the girls.”
The cockerel was heading straight to the chickens' enclosure. They darted about furiously and some of them hid underneath the henhouse, which she would have thought impossible if she hadn't seen it.
“Those poor hens,” she said.
“They need a man,” said Gilou. “You'll see.”
“Where will he sleep?” Charlotte asked, grimacing.
“With them,” Gilou said.
“Don't listen to him,” Charlotte said to the cowering hens. “You're beautiful just as you are.”
The black cockerel had fine feathers on its feet and an incredible spray of red and white feathers for its tail.
“You're beautiful too,” Charlotte admitted, “but don't let it go to your head. Without these ladies, you're nothing. Hear me?”
It spent the next hour running around the enclosure, chasing the hens and ultimately pinning them one by one, nipping painfully at the backs of their necks and sitting on top of them. A few seconds later it would jump off, triumphant, and the poor chicken would ruffle its feathers.
When the cockerel attempted to do this within three feet of her, she picked up a broom.
“Don't you dare,” Gilou yelled from the house. “This is nature. Don't interfere with nature.”
“This isn't nature,” Charlotte said. “It's porn.”
“Shh.”
He went back inside.
She swung the broom and the cockerel scrambled for the other side of the enclosure.
“Try biting me like that,” she said, “and I'll break your wings.”
It cowered in the shadow of the henhouse.
Despite her misgivings, however, the cockerel did seem to integrate with the hens over a course of days. The hens would follow him around, despite her protests to the contrary.
“As I said,” Gilou told her. “This is nature. For men to be dominant. And for women to do as they're told.”
“But chickens have very small brains,” Charlotte said. “And if you consider the size of that cockerel, you'll see that there's not enough oxygen getting to its tiny, tiny head.”
“... I don't understand you,” he said.
“That's what I'm talking
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