Things are changing in the Palace. After a year of silkie ownership, I have to finally confess to not being that keen. I have tried to find the silkie sisters endearing, or sweet, or charming, but it's not happening. They are either broody (which is fair enough), or running laps around the garden squawking their heads off and sounding like deranged turkeys (which isn't). The pekins have always stayed somewhat aloof from the manic feather dusters, and I have made my decision. Kiki and Margot are being rehomed.
I think the main problem is that I adore my pekins. I love the way they stand barely 6 inches tall, yet have the self importance of an ostrich. I admire their feisty, narky attitude. Watching them waddle about the garden at high speed after a tasty bug makes me smile. The haughty expression on their faces if I catch them in the greenhouse endears them to me each and every time (the vandals). The fact that Maeve (aka ASBO chicken) openly growls at me, who must look like a giant to her, if I dare to block out her light when she's sunbathing is, quite frankly, brilliant. In short, I have found my poultry best fit. And it is a small bird with a ginormous personality.
In comparison, the silkies seem rather dim. Actually, that's me being generous. They are skittish, highly strung and prone to screaming fits for no apparent reason. I can't detect any discernable personalities. To be fair, this is probably because they have spent a great deal of time pancaked in the nest box. However, they have never really calmed down to the human presence. They panic if the children go outside to play, unlike the majestic pekins who stroll away nonchalantly when a football comes barrelling towards them. Indeed, the pekins have even been known to tolerate rides on skateboards, or being carted around the garden by the youngest while he prattles away about bakugan. All has been tolerated with dignity. The silkies don't enjoy this attention at all.
So, I have advertised the silkies for sale. With any luck, they will be rehomed with someone who can make use of their broody abilities and who truly loves the breed. They will go together, and although the youngest is a bit put out (Kiki is officially his bird), I think that the neighbours will throw a party.
In other rehoming news, the peeps have all been confirmed as boys. I have also advertised them, and hope that I can manage to find them all homes before they commence doodling. They come off heat this week, so hopefully there are three new homes waiting with harems for my chaps. I am visiting them at a bare minimum, and hope that it won't be too heart wrenching to see them go.
I won't be hatching any more this year, if at all. If I decide to replace the silkies (who am I kidding? If?) I am hoping to source some young females. I will allow the youngest to pick one, as his new hen. Secretly, he still hankers after Belinda, and I hope that I can find him a suitable replacement.
I am still hoping for a frizzle.
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Showing posts with label Kiki. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kiki. Show all posts
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Friday, 2 July 2010
Day 0
Sometimes life surprises you. Today I recieved a humidity gauge in the post, sent by a fellow poultry lover I know through Twitter. I am deeply touched by this act of kindness, and delighted that I can now stare obsessively at the little dial, worrying about any tiny deviation. My anxiety needs direction.
Today is officially day 0, or the day on which the eggs are set. The incy has been running since wednesday evening without problems, but upon measuring the humidity it was reading at 60%. This is a bit too high, so I emptied the water well and allowed it to run 'dry'. This has brought the level down to between 40% and 50%, which is the best I can hope for in this weather I suspect. The eggs have been marked with an R and an L, so that as I turn them I can keep track. I lovingly placed them in the incy just after lunch.
The digital thermometer for the incy has not shown up yet, so I have been checking the temp with an oral digital thermometer. I think the temp is right. I hope the temp is right. When the proper thermometer arrives, I will be reluctant to check it officially, just in case I've got it hideously wrong. I am happy in my ignorance.
Kiki has gotten over her broody spell, and decided to celebrate by exploding all over the garden. She resembles a moth eaten feather duster, and the other hens are all accented by stray silkie fluff. Doris did a disturbed lap of the garden earlier in an attempt to shake one from her forehead. I had to take pity on her in the end and remove it. Maeve has decided that any in flight feathers are edible, and can be seen energetically jumping after any which get taken by a breeze as Kiki road-runners past. The coop has drifts of fluff at its corners.
I may take the dyson to her tomorrow.
Today is officially day 0, or the day on which the eggs are set. The incy has been running since wednesday evening without problems, but upon measuring the humidity it was reading at 60%. This is a bit too high, so I emptied the water well and allowed it to run 'dry'. This has brought the level down to between 40% and 50%, which is the best I can hope for in this weather I suspect. The eggs have been marked with an R and an L, so that as I turn them I can keep track. I lovingly placed them in the incy just after lunch.
The digital thermometer for the incy has not shown up yet, so I have been checking the temp with an oral digital thermometer. I think the temp is right. I hope the temp is right. When the proper thermometer arrives, I will be reluctant to check it officially, just in case I've got it hideously wrong. I am happy in my ignorance.
Kiki has gotten over her broody spell, and decided to celebrate by exploding all over the garden. She resembles a moth eaten feather duster, and the other hens are all accented by stray silkie fluff. Doris did a disturbed lap of the garden earlier in an attempt to shake one from her forehead. I had to take pity on her in the end and remove it. Maeve has decided that any in flight feathers are edible, and can be seen energetically jumping after any which get taken by a breeze as Kiki road-runners past. The coop has drifts of fluff at its corners.
I may take the dyson to her tomorrow.
Labels:
Doris,
hatching eggs,
humidity gauge,
incubator,
Kiki,
Maeve,
moult,
thermometer
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Annual Wash Day
I've been putting it off, but it's no good. Preparing myself with a deep breath, I ran a bucket of warm, soapy water. The hens watched me carry said bucket out on to the patio, and en masse decided to leg it in to the Palace. They weren't exactly sure what the bucket meant, but they knew it didn't contain corn.
Several of the girls have been walking about with dirty knickers. Now, in the winter, this isn't a major issue (although, of course, it can be a welfare matter), but in the summer it becomes a more serious problem. Fly strike is a real risk to the hens, and the best way to protect the girls is to wash their undercrackers. They do not enjoy this, as a rule.
Steeling myself, I went to fetch Maude, by far the most laid back hen. Unfortunately for me, just as I was about to scoop her up, the youngest presented me with Maeve, by far the most narky hen. Not wishing to show fear to my children, I nonchalantly brought her over to the bucket. She eyeballed me, and muttered a low threat which roughly translated went along the lines of 'If you go through with this, I will remember. I will remember, and I will exact revenge. Terrible, unthinkable revenge'. Ignoring her chickenny hard talk, I plunged her in to the soap. Remarkably, she sat up to her neck in the foam and allowed me to clean her bum feathers. After a few minutes of soaking in the warm water, the tiny poo balls had melted away, so I released the beast. She stood, dripping, in front of me. A wet chicken is a truly pitiful sight. As the suds slid from her foot feathers, she stretched out her wings, shook herself, glared at me over her shoulder and did her best to stalk off with her dignity intact. She failed. The bath had flattened all of her underfluff, leaving her bald chicken bottom on show for all to see. The children nearly had a fit laughing.
Maude, Kiki, Doris, Mabel and Purdy all followed suit. Kiki was by far the least impressed, and on release legged it around the garden leaving a trail of suds in her wake. This new, slimline Kiki went like a bullet. Mabel attempted to walk regally from the bucket, but found that her saturated leg feathers made anything more than a shuffle impossible. Margot and Celia escaped bath time, as their undercarriages were clean as a whistle. They are obviously more lady like in their toilet habits.
So now I have a very soggy, skinny looking flock. The bathed beauties are all flattened on the lawn, getting a solar blow dry. The other two are watching from the dust bath, and probably sniggering.
Now I just have to worry about Maeve's come back.
Several of the girls have been walking about with dirty knickers. Now, in the winter, this isn't a major issue (although, of course, it can be a welfare matter), but in the summer it becomes a more serious problem. Fly strike is a real risk to the hens, and the best way to protect the girls is to wash their undercrackers. They do not enjoy this, as a rule.
Steeling myself, I went to fetch Maude, by far the most laid back hen. Unfortunately for me, just as I was about to scoop her up, the youngest presented me with Maeve, by far the most narky hen. Not wishing to show fear to my children, I nonchalantly brought her over to the bucket. She eyeballed me, and muttered a low threat which roughly translated went along the lines of 'If you go through with this, I will remember. I will remember, and I will exact revenge. Terrible, unthinkable revenge'. Ignoring her chickenny hard talk, I plunged her in to the soap. Remarkably, she sat up to her neck in the foam and allowed me to clean her bum feathers. After a few minutes of soaking in the warm water, the tiny poo balls had melted away, so I released the beast. She stood, dripping, in front of me. A wet chicken is a truly pitiful sight. As the suds slid from her foot feathers, she stretched out her wings, shook herself, glared at me over her shoulder and did her best to stalk off with her dignity intact. She failed. The bath had flattened all of her underfluff, leaving her bald chicken bottom on show for all to see. The children nearly had a fit laughing.
Maude, Kiki, Doris, Mabel and Purdy all followed suit. Kiki was by far the least impressed, and on release legged it around the garden leaving a trail of suds in her wake. This new, slimline Kiki went like a bullet. Mabel attempted to walk regally from the bucket, but found that her saturated leg feathers made anything more than a shuffle impossible. Margot and Celia escaped bath time, as their undercarriages were clean as a whistle. They are obviously more lady like in their toilet habits.
So now I have a very soggy, skinny looking flock. The bathed beauties are all flattened on the lawn, getting a solar blow dry. The other two are watching from the dust bath, and probably sniggering.
Now I just have to worry about Maeve's come back.
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Purdy Grows Up
Purdy has been crouching for a few days now, so I knew that she was reaching chicken adulthood. The other hens seem to know instinctively when one of their number is about to come in to lay, and it always stirs things up a bit.
The girls spent the day mooching about the garden, commiting petty acts of planticide and eating things. Mabel, Maude, and Margot laid their eggs with nary an egg anouncement between them. All was peaceful and calm. At school pick up time, I enticed them all back in to the Palace's run with grapes, locked them in and thought no more about it.
While cooking dinner several hours later, I noticed only four hens in the run. Mabel, Maude, Doris and Margot were all sunbathing. I knew that Kiki was busy being broody, which left the chooklets and Maeve. Uh oh. Opening the coop door, I found Celia and Purdy cowering in the corner. Maeve was strutting between the two, administering sharp head pecks as and when she saw fit, looking very much like a sadistic Hollywood SS officer. Shooing her away, I moved the traumatised youngsters to a perch where they could easily escape, and went back inside to make the gravy.
Five minutes later, the run was still devoid of any chooklets. I had expected the young pullets to leg it for freedom as soon as possible, so I suspected that ASBO chicken had somehow recaptured her hostages. I found Purdy huddled beneath the perch, gasping, with a seriously pecked comb. Celia was sat nearby, not injured but staying close to her ally. Maeve eyeballed me triumphantly.
Grabbing the shocked Purdy, I wrapped her in an old teatowel and sponged off the worst of the blood. The injury wasn't as bad as I'd feared, but was still serious enough to require some antiseptic. As my eldest wandered past, I shoved the teatowel cocooned chooklet at him and went hunting through the garage for the gentian violet. It took a few minutes to locate, and all the while the children spoke softly to the little chicken, trying to keep her calm. Her stillness and quietness was rather worrying. In fact, Purdy seemed to be in a traumatised trance.
I gently dabbed the gentian violet all over her comb. Gentian violet never goes exactly where you want it to, though, so now the unfortunate chook has a purple comb, beak, face and one wattle has a distinctly violet tinge. Once I had finished my chook first aid, I told the eldest to put her down. As he lowered her to the floor and gently unwrapped her from the teatowel, he said something which sounded like 'Oh, her leg just fell off'. That brought me up short, I can tell you. Observing the shakey progress Purdy was making across the patio, for a split second I seriously considered that this might be the case. It was only when the youngest held up a tiny, brown, perfect egg that I twigged. Unfortunately, the egg shell was badly cracked from its fall to the concrete, but other than that it was a very impressive first attempt. Suddenly, the sudden attack made sense.
Purdy hadn't run from Maeve's mindless violence because she had needed to lay. In fact, she was probably sitting to lay where I found her being pecked. Celia must have been keeping her company. I watched the young hen for about thirty minutes, looking for signs of shock. The other hens took it in turns to charge at her, and she managed to stay one step ahead. At the time of writing this, a good two and a half hours after all the drama, things seem to have settled down. Purdy has eaten and drank, preened and pooed. Her teenage goth phase may last some considerable time though, because gentian violet is a pig to get off.
I threw the teatowel away.
The girls spent the day mooching about the garden, commiting petty acts of planticide and eating things. Mabel, Maude, and Margot laid their eggs with nary an egg anouncement between them. All was peaceful and calm. At school pick up time, I enticed them all back in to the Palace's run with grapes, locked them in and thought no more about it.
While cooking dinner several hours later, I noticed only four hens in the run. Mabel, Maude, Doris and Margot were all sunbathing. I knew that Kiki was busy being broody, which left the chooklets and Maeve. Uh oh. Opening the coop door, I found Celia and Purdy cowering in the corner. Maeve was strutting between the two, administering sharp head pecks as and when she saw fit, looking very much like a sadistic Hollywood SS officer. Shooing her away, I moved the traumatised youngsters to a perch where they could easily escape, and went back inside to make the gravy.
Five minutes later, the run was still devoid of any chooklets. I had expected the young pullets to leg it for freedom as soon as possible, so I suspected that ASBO chicken had somehow recaptured her hostages. I found Purdy huddled beneath the perch, gasping, with a seriously pecked comb. Celia was sat nearby, not injured but staying close to her ally. Maeve eyeballed me triumphantly.
Grabbing the shocked Purdy, I wrapped her in an old teatowel and sponged off the worst of the blood. The injury wasn't as bad as I'd feared, but was still serious enough to require some antiseptic. As my eldest wandered past, I shoved the teatowel cocooned chooklet at him and went hunting through the garage for the gentian violet. It took a few minutes to locate, and all the while the children spoke softly to the little chicken, trying to keep her calm. Her stillness and quietness was rather worrying. In fact, Purdy seemed to be in a traumatised trance.
I gently dabbed the gentian violet all over her comb. Gentian violet never goes exactly where you want it to, though, so now the unfortunate chook has a purple comb, beak, face and one wattle has a distinctly violet tinge. Once I had finished my chook first aid, I told the eldest to put her down. As he lowered her to the floor and gently unwrapped her from the teatowel, he said something which sounded like 'Oh, her leg just fell off'. That brought me up short, I can tell you. Observing the shakey progress Purdy was making across the patio, for a split second I seriously considered that this might be the case. It was only when the youngest held up a tiny, brown, perfect egg that I twigged. Unfortunately, the egg shell was badly cracked from its fall to the concrete, but other than that it was a very impressive first attempt. Suddenly, the sudden attack made sense.
Purdy hadn't run from Maeve's mindless violence because she had needed to lay. In fact, she was probably sitting to lay where I found her being pecked. Celia must have been keeping her company. I watched the young hen for about thirty minutes, looking for signs of shock. The other hens took it in turns to charge at her, and she managed to stay one step ahead. At the time of writing this, a good two and a half hours after all the drama, things seem to have settled down. Purdy has eaten and drank, preened and pooed. Her teenage goth phase may last some considerable time though, because gentian violet is a pig to get off.
I threw the teatowel away.
Monday, 17 May 2010
The Whole Gang
Margot advances for her close up.
Maude crouching. The hussy.
Maude, the supermodel chicken.
The Palace in its new location.
Celia meets the camera dead on. From the front, chickens look weird.
Doris's extreme close up.
Kiki's broody bum. This is all we're seeing of her at the moment.
The luxurious Palace nest box row, complete with resident psychotic hen.
Maude, looking beautiful as always.
Maeve, aka ASBO chicken, dust bathing at the back of the border. There used to be a lupin there.
The chooklets, Celia and Purdy, grab the chance to fill their crops. Purdy has begun crouching, so expecting the first egg any day now.
Our illustrious leader, caught in the undignified position of laying an egg. How terribly embarassing. Like catching the Queen on the loo.
Purdy practices her tightrope walking.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Kiki's Revenge
It has been glorious here today. I used the opportunity to knock the garden back in to shape, with the enforced help of the ever tolerant husband. We spent the morning shifting earth, moving plants and pots and generally tidying. The chooks mooched about after us, occassionally getting themselves close enough to the downwards stroke of the spade to only just escape the fate of a French aristocrat during the revolution. Doris is without doubt the most fearless, risking her neck several times for that juicy must-have worm.
At last, the chores were finished, and we locked the hens in to the Palace so that we could enjoy sitting in the sun without a feathery marauder landing on your shoulder. The chooks took this well, for the most part. The Palace is truly palatial to my small girls, and a vast improvement on the Convent's more modest grounds. They contented themselves with perching in the shade, or sunbathing in the aubiose. All was peaceful. Until, that is, Kiki was awoken from her broody spell.
I had caged Kiki earlier in the day in an effort to get her to eat and drink. The hormonal silkie has been in the broody zone for a fortnight now, and shows no sign of stepping out of it. She paced agitatedly about the cage, periodically sticking her fluffy head and long neck up out of the cage through the wire mesh like a submarine upping its periscope. After a few hours, I released her from the cage but shut the pop hole. Immediately, she dashed in to the Palace and smacked straight in to the closed pop hole. The rebound took her to the bottom of the ramp. Undeterred, she tried several times more. When sheer brute force didn't clear her path, she attempted to use her beak as a crowbar. I have to confess to being quite impressed. Alas, this too failed. She perched in the run, muttering darkly.
All of a sudden, she seemed to notice the chooklets for the first time. She has been in her broody alternate universe all through the move to the Palace, and the introduction of Purdy and Celia to the main flock. Her short spell in the cage was all it took to bring her round enough to notice. And she didn't like it. As we sat in the garden, enjoying the sun, Kiki decided to kill the chooklets. With uncharacteristic viciousness, she hounded them around the Palace, allowing them no respite. All of the hens took up a loud screeching, as Purdy and Celia legged it at light speed from the mental roadrunner. I watched anxiously, knowing that interference would only prolong any bullying, yet ready to step in should feathers and/or blood be drawn. It would settle down for a few minutes, only for the crazy Benny Hill chase to begin again with renewed vigour. Eventually, I decided to remove Kiki so that she could calm down.
Cornering her in the sleeping area, I grabbed her. She immediately started making a racket as if she was being murdered, flapping her wings and wobbling her neck about. With grim determination, I hung on to the struggling silkie and wrestled her back in to the broody cage. Immediately, the rest of the flock fell silent and went back to their sunbathing/preening/snoozing. Kiki resumed pacing and chuntering.
I have no idea what led to Kiki's sudden hostility. After about an hour, I put her back in with the flock. She strutted back up the ramp to her favourite nest box and pancaked herself. The glazed look in her eye told me that she was no longer with us. This is one determined broody.
I think that Celia and Purdy will be glad of it.
At last, the chores were finished, and we locked the hens in to the Palace so that we could enjoy sitting in the sun without a feathery marauder landing on your shoulder. The chooks took this well, for the most part. The Palace is truly palatial to my small girls, and a vast improvement on the Convent's more modest grounds. They contented themselves with perching in the shade, or sunbathing in the aubiose. All was peaceful. Until, that is, Kiki was awoken from her broody spell.
I had caged Kiki earlier in the day in an effort to get her to eat and drink. The hormonal silkie has been in the broody zone for a fortnight now, and shows no sign of stepping out of it. She paced agitatedly about the cage, periodically sticking her fluffy head and long neck up out of the cage through the wire mesh like a submarine upping its periscope. After a few hours, I released her from the cage but shut the pop hole. Immediately, she dashed in to the Palace and smacked straight in to the closed pop hole. The rebound took her to the bottom of the ramp. Undeterred, she tried several times more. When sheer brute force didn't clear her path, she attempted to use her beak as a crowbar. I have to confess to being quite impressed. Alas, this too failed. She perched in the run, muttering darkly.
All of a sudden, she seemed to notice the chooklets for the first time. She has been in her broody alternate universe all through the move to the Palace, and the introduction of Purdy and Celia to the main flock. Her short spell in the cage was all it took to bring her round enough to notice. And she didn't like it. As we sat in the garden, enjoying the sun, Kiki decided to kill the chooklets. With uncharacteristic viciousness, she hounded them around the Palace, allowing them no respite. All of the hens took up a loud screeching, as Purdy and Celia legged it at light speed from the mental roadrunner. I watched anxiously, knowing that interference would only prolong any bullying, yet ready to step in should feathers and/or blood be drawn. It would settle down for a few minutes, only for the crazy Benny Hill chase to begin again with renewed vigour. Eventually, I decided to remove Kiki so that she could calm down.
Cornering her in the sleeping area, I grabbed her. She immediately started making a racket as if she was being murdered, flapping her wings and wobbling her neck about. With grim determination, I hung on to the struggling silkie and wrestled her back in to the broody cage. Immediately, the rest of the flock fell silent and went back to their sunbathing/preening/snoozing. Kiki resumed pacing and chuntering.
I have no idea what led to Kiki's sudden hostility. After about an hour, I put her back in with the flock. She strutted back up the ramp to her favourite nest box and pancaked herself. The glazed look in her eye told me that she was no longer with us. This is one determined broody.
I think that Celia and Purdy will be glad of it.
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
Digging For Victory
The Chook Palace has been successfully relocated. In the end, we had to call in the services of our lovely drummer neighbour to help move it. My assertion that I could lift it turned out to be, frankly, wrong. Like any self respecting Palace, it weighs a ton (If not literally, it's not far off).
Now that its reached its final resting place, I can begin to landscape around it. I would love to plant swathes of beautiful flowers, but the pragmatist in me knows that what I really need are unappatising, chicken proof shrubs. The chooks have taken the move well, and even obliged by putting themselves to bed last night like sensible hens. Partly, this might be down to the fact that it is absolutely freezing here again. I peeked in to the sleeping area to find all six pekins huddled together, the chooklets sensibly putting the fearsome Mabel between themselves and the social climbing Maeve. The silkies were a mass of fur in the nest box, and at some point I will be addressing this bad habit.
In digging out the flower bed to make a flat base for the Palace, the ever tolerant husband has created a large pile of earth. This needs to be moved, and I managed to distribute four wheel barrow loads last night before my back threw a tantrum and stubbornly refused to haul any more. The hens are in raptures. Its a veritable smorgasboard of squirmy things, and they are gorging themselves. Indeed, Maude has gotten a little carried away, and managed to dig herself a crater. All that can be seen from this side of the mound is a fine spray of earth being furiously thrown up and behind her ample rear end. Occassionally, a hapless hen wanders past and gets a faceful of dirt. The protestations can be heard from the house.
Kiki is broody, so ignoring all of the activity. I turfed her out while the Palace was moved, and she diligently kept pace with it as it was transported up the garden. As soon as it was landed, she sprinted back up to her nest box. I imagine that when she finally wakes up from her maternal spell, she'll look about her at the cavernous Palace and go 'Huh?! Where am I?!'.
Something, while up to my elbows in chicken poo, I often ask myself.
Now that its reached its final resting place, I can begin to landscape around it. I would love to plant swathes of beautiful flowers, but the pragmatist in me knows that what I really need are unappatising, chicken proof shrubs. The chooks have taken the move well, and even obliged by putting themselves to bed last night like sensible hens. Partly, this might be down to the fact that it is absolutely freezing here again. I peeked in to the sleeping area to find all six pekins huddled together, the chooklets sensibly putting the fearsome Mabel between themselves and the social climbing Maeve. The silkies were a mass of fur in the nest box, and at some point I will be addressing this bad habit.
In digging out the flower bed to make a flat base for the Palace, the ever tolerant husband has created a large pile of earth. This needs to be moved, and I managed to distribute four wheel barrow loads last night before my back threw a tantrum and stubbornly refused to haul any more. The hens are in raptures. Its a veritable smorgasboard of squirmy things, and they are gorging themselves. Indeed, Maude has gotten a little carried away, and managed to dig herself a crater. All that can be seen from this side of the mound is a fine spray of earth being furiously thrown up and behind her ample rear end. Occassionally, a hapless hen wanders past and gets a faceful of dirt. The protestations can be heard from the house.
Kiki is broody, so ignoring all of the activity. I turfed her out while the Palace was moved, and she diligently kept pace with it as it was transported up the garden. As soon as it was landed, she sprinted back up to her nest box. I imagine that when she finally wakes up from her maternal spell, she'll look about her at the cavernous Palace and go 'Huh?! Where am I?!'.
Something, while up to my elbows in chicken poo, I often ask myself.
Monday, 10 May 2010
The Palace Is On The Move
The chooks are now happily settled in to their new abode. They adore the run perches, and scratching about in the aubiose. However, they are less enamoured of the sleeping area. The coop is huge compared to what they're used to, and very, very dark. When they need to lay, they timidly scuttle in to the nearest nest box from the pop hole, expel the egg and then run hell for leather back outside. Only the newly broody (again) Kiki shows any willing to spend time in the spacious indoors. At night, Margot goes in to join her flockmate, but the others snuggle up on an outside perch.
So, at dusk, I trek out to the Palace, and stuff birds in to the pop hole. One by one, I shove them inside. As they're in their sleepy trance state at this point, they don't happily wander over to the indoor perches. They stay plonked just inside the door. As subsequent birds are deposited, the preceeding hen is shunted across the coop floor. What you end up with, is a hypnotised conga line of chickens. I then turn a torch on inside the house, which wakes them up a bit. The sensible Mille's shake themselves and climb aboard the perch block. Doris slowly comes round and joins them. Maeve's first instinct on waking up is to duff up Celia and Purdy, who leg it in to the furthest nest box. Once all of this has calmed down, I turn off the torch and lock them in. I'm really hoping that they get over this fear of the great indoors quite rapidly.
The Palace was always destined to stand on the new patio. However, after just a few days it's become apparent that it needs to move. Much as I love hens, they are not tidy creatures. Within minutes of being released, they tend to kick bedding out of the door and poo a lot. The ever tolerant husband made an executive decision, and began digging out the border. I frantically removed plants before they fell foul of his spade and hurried to replant them in a safer place. The girls watched all of this activity from their lofty vantage point, occassionally shrieking encouragement. The ever tolerant husband just loves being serenaded.
By early evening, he had managed to lay four enormous paving slabs, and called it a day. As soon as he went inside to clean up, I released the chooks. With great joy, they ran/flapped over to the newly excavated ground and happily ate their own body weight in bugs. Unfortunately, in doing so, they managed to scratch earth everywhere and half bury the painstakingly layed slabs. Ahem. I hurriedly excavated the site with my foot.
The Convent was sold yesterday, for the amazing price of Ā£122. The buyer was so keen, he actually drove an hour along the motorway to collect it as soon as the auction finished. I watched it go with a mixture of relief (Yay! My garden back!) and sadness. After all, it was the coop that began my chicken keeping journey.
I wish its new owners well as they begin theirs.
So, at dusk, I trek out to the Palace, and stuff birds in to the pop hole. One by one, I shove them inside. As they're in their sleepy trance state at this point, they don't happily wander over to the indoor perches. They stay plonked just inside the door. As subsequent birds are deposited, the preceeding hen is shunted across the coop floor. What you end up with, is a hypnotised conga line of chickens. I then turn a torch on inside the house, which wakes them up a bit. The sensible Mille's shake themselves and climb aboard the perch block. Doris slowly comes round and joins them. Maeve's first instinct on waking up is to duff up Celia and Purdy, who leg it in to the furthest nest box. Once all of this has calmed down, I turn off the torch and lock them in. I'm really hoping that they get over this fear of the great indoors quite rapidly.
The Palace was always destined to stand on the new patio. However, after just a few days it's become apparent that it needs to move. Much as I love hens, they are not tidy creatures. Within minutes of being released, they tend to kick bedding out of the door and poo a lot. The ever tolerant husband made an executive decision, and began digging out the border. I frantically removed plants before they fell foul of his spade and hurried to replant them in a safer place. The girls watched all of this activity from their lofty vantage point, occassionally shrieking encouragement. The ever tolerant husband just loves being serenaded.
By early evening, he had managed to lay four enormous paving slabs, and called it a day. As soon as he went inside to clean up, I released the chooks. With great joy, they ran/flapped over to the newly excavated ground and happily ate their own body weight in bugs. Unfortunately, in doing so, they managed to scratch earth everywhere and half bury the painstakingly layed slabs. Ahem. I hurriedly excavated the site with my foot.
The Convent was sold yesterday, for the amazing price of Ā£122. The buyer was so keen, he actually drove an hour along the motorway to collect it as soon as the auction finished. I watched it go with a mixture of relief (Yay! My garden back!) and sadness. After all, it was the coop that began my chicken keeping journey.
I wish its new owners well as they begin theirs.
Thursday, 6 May 2010
The First Night
I contacted Smiths yesterday after updating this blog to enquire about putting the hens in to the freshly creocoted Palace. I was informed that as soon as it was dry, they could move in. So, at seven o'clock last night, they did.
I eagerly prepared the shiny new coop for the chooks first night. They watched the activity from afar, apparently unconcerned by this new development. I very much doubt that they expected the new structure to have anyting to do with them. Boy, were they in for a surprise.
Once everything was ready, I threw in a handful of corn and called them. They came thundering up the garden, before coming to a comedy stop at the threshold of the new pad. Some low level chuntering passed from the hens at the front (Maude and Maeve) to those at the back (Mabel and Kiki). Most opted for a slow backwards retreat. However, Doris was hungry, and shot in to the run to grab a beakful of grain. Maeve sauntered after her, looking around the fabulous new addition to my chicken keeping empire. She half heartedly scratched in the bedding, before nonchalantly turning back for the door. At the same time, Doris decided to vacate. It started out quite sedately, and ended in a mad dash across the patio. Not sure what spooked them, but they were definitely disturbed. So, there was nothing else for it.
I darted about the garden, grabbing hens and stuffing them in to the coop. Finishing with the chooklets (who were stuffed in to a nest box), I stood back and waited for the girls to emerge. Ten minutes later, I was still waiting. Some bokking could be heard from the bedroom area, but not so much as a beak passed the open pop hole. I decided to make myself a cup of tea.
When I returned, I saw Maude emerging from the house. She stood at the top of the ramp, doing that curious 'head up, head down' thing that all chickens do when trying to suss out their environment. She darted her head all about, taking in the roof and walls, before elegantly leaping on to one of the external perches. Shaking herself, she let out a loud bok-ARK. Maude had obviously been chosen as the scout chicken. Finding the coast clear, she gave the signal. The others began to emerge.
They spent the next hour or so exploring the grounds of the palace. Every so often, someone would attempt to fly up to the roof, no doubt checking the security features. So engrossed in this were they, that the chooklets were largely left alone. Only when Celia refused to vacate the space on the perch which Mabel felt was rightly the top hens spot did she get a bit of feather pulling, but on the whole it has been quite tame. Relieved, I retreated to the human house to eat biscuits.
At half eight, I went out to check on them. Strangely, the daft silkies were the only birds to go in to the house to sleep. I found them wedged in to a nest box. This was a surprise, because in my experience the silkie girls have the combined intelligence of a crisp packet. Maeve had occupied a neighbouring box when first introduced to the Palace, and had stubbornly refused to move. Outside, on a perch, I found five snoozing pekins. Chook by chook, I placed them on the internal perch block. Being in that curious half asleep/hypnotised state, they allowed me to do so without a sound. I closed the pop hole, and crossed my fingers.
My alarm went off at 7 this morning, and I eagerly went out to open the coop. Not a sound. With a dark dread I opened the main door, imagining lots of creocoted to death chooks. Eight hens stared back at me, blinking in to the light. The coop is very, very dark. This is very, very good. Hopefully, the false night will keep the gobby hens quiet. Within the hour, all of the girls (even Maeve) had made their way downstairs to get some breakfast. They are staying in today, just to get them totally used to their new house., and so that they can redecorate a bit.
Moving day is always a bit stressful.
I eagerly prepared the shiny new coop for the chooks first night. They watched the activity from afar, apparently unconcerned by this new development. I very much doubt that they expected the new structure to have anyting to do with them. Boy, were they in for a surprise.
Once everything was ready, I threw in a handful of corn and called them. They came thundering up the garden, before coming to a comedy stop at the threshold of the new pad. Some low level chuntering passed from the hens at the front (Maude and Maeve) to those at the back (Mabel and Kiki). Most opted for a slow backwards retreat. However, Doris was hungry, and shot in to the run to grab a beakful of grain. Maeve sauntered after her, looking around the fabulous new addition to my chicken keeping empire. She half heartedly scratched in the bedding, before nonchalantly turning back for the door. At the same time, Doris decided to vacate. It started out quite sedately, and ended in a mad dash across the patio. Not sure what spooked them, but they were definitely disturbed. So, there was nothing else for it.
I darted about the garden, grabbing hens and stuffing them in to the coop. Finishing with the chooklets (who were stuffed in to a nest box), I stood back and waited for the girls to emerge. Ten minutes later, I was still waiting. Some bokking could be heard from the bedroom area, but not so much as a beak passed the open pop hole. I decided to make myself a cup of tea.
When I returned, I saw Maude emerging from the house. She stood at the top of the ramp, doing that curious 'head up, head down' thing that all chickens do when trying to suss out their environment. She darted her head all about, taking in the roof and walls, before elegantly leaping on to one of the external perches. Shaking herself, she let out a loud bok-ARK. Maude had obviously been chosen as the scout chicken. Finding the coast clear, she gave the signal. The others began to emerge.
They spent the next hour or so exploring the grounds of the palace. Every so often, someone would attempt to fly up to the roof, no doubt checking the security features. So engrossed in this were they, that the chooklets were largely left alone. Only when Celia refused to vacate the space on the perch which Mabel felt was rightly the top hens spot did she get a bit of feather pulling, but on the whole it has been quite tame. Relieved, I retreated to the human house to eat biscuits.
At half eight, I went out to check on them. Strangely, the daft silkies were the only birds to go in to the house to sleep. I found them wedged in to a nest box. This was a surprise, because in my experience the silkie girls have the combined intelligence of a crisp packet. Maeve had occupied a neighbouring box when first introduced to the Palace, and had stubbornly refused to move. Outside, on a perch, I found five snoozing pekins. Chook by chook, I placed them on the internal perch block. Being in that curious half asleep/hypnotised state, they allowed me to do so without a sound. I closed the pop hole, and crossed my fingers.
My alarm went off at 7 this morning, and I eagerly went out to open the coop. Not a sound. With a dark dread I opened the main door, imagining lots of creocoted to death chooks. Eight hens stared back at me, blinking in to the light. The coop is very, very dark. This is very, very good. Hopefully, the false night will keep the gobby hens quiet. Within the hour, all of the girls (even Maeve) had made their way downstairs to get some breakfast. They are staying in today, just to get them totally used to their new house., and so that they can redecorate a bit.
Moving day is always a bit stressful.
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
Is The End Nigh?
Kiki woke the ever tolerant husband up at 5.15 this morning. He in turn woke me up, and I dragged myself down to the coop in a semi conscious state. I asked the ever tolerant husband to shut the pop hole last night, but he obviously was unaware of the silkies house breaking abilities. If the door is even slightly ajar, they use their beaks as a crow bar and escape. Hence the dawn shrieking.
I eyeballed the gobby hen. She looked back at me. I grabbed her and stuffed her unceremoniously back in to the coop, firmly closing the door. Returning to bed, I had a lovely two hours of lying anxiously, awaiting an understandably furious neighbour at the door. No knock came, but this cannot continue.
With a heavy heart, I informed our youngest child that the silkies might have to be rehomed. Many tears followed. The new chook palace is coming tomorrow, and this has put a dampener on it. When the pop hole is securely closed, the Convent is pitch black inside. This keeps the girls sleeping. The new house is well vented, which means that there will be more internal light. My fear is that the silkies might take up singing and dancing even when confined. And dawn is, well, dawning ever earlier.
This morning, I was adament that the gobby duo would have to leave. However, in the bright sunshine, watching them sunbathe with the rest of the flock, I have my doubts. The early morning serenades only began when the coop was moved on to the grass for the patio work to be completed. I suppose its feasible that once installed in the new coop, they will settle. Hmmm.
Rehoming the silkies will be awful. Yet not as awful as the penny dropping with the ever tolerant husband that if the flock shrinks by two, the chook palace becomes unnecessary. Oh dear.
I eyeballed the gobby hen. She looked back at me. I grabbed her and stuffed her unceremoniously back in to the coop, firmly closing the door. Returning to bed, I had a lovely two hours of lying anxiously, awaiting an understandably furious neighbour at the door. No knock came, but this cannot continue.
With a heavy heart, I informed our youngest child that the silkies might have to be rehomed. Many tears followed. The new chook palace is coming tomorrow, and this has put a dampener on it. When the pop hole is securely closed, the Convent is pitch black inside. This keeps the girls sleeping. The new house is well vented, which means that there will be more internal light. My fear is that the silkies might take up singing and dancing even when confined. And dawn is, well, dawning ever earlier.
This morning, I was adament that the gobby duo would have to leave. However, in the bright sunshine, watching them sunbathe with the rest of the flock, I have my doubts. The early morning serenades only began when the coop was moved on to the grass for the patio work to be completed. I suppose its feasible that once installed in the new coop, they will settle. Hmmm.
Rehoming the silkies will be awful. Yet not as awful as the penny dropping with the ever tolerant husband that if the flock shrinks by two, the chook palace becomes unnecessary. Oh dear.
Monday, 19 April 2010
Operation Blackout
No one wants to be woken up at 5.30 on a sunday morning. No one. Unfortunately, Margot doesn't seem to understand this. So, yesterday morning, at this ungodly hour, she decided to go off on a mad bokking session. Just for a laugh, Doris and Kiki joined in. The ever tolerant husband and I shot up the bed, looked at each other and both said 'Birds!'. Much scrambling around for dressing gowns followed, all the while the decidedly shrill dawn chorus continued. Thundering down the stairs, I tried to prepare myself for foxy carnage. Having the coop on grass is not conductive to peace of mind, and I am paranoid.
I managed to unlock the door, and flew outside with my heart in my mouth. There was no fox. Or any sign of digging. What there was, were three extremely pleased with themselves gobby hens. They stopped 'singing' and lined up by the run door. I glared at them. They stared back. I turned my back on the little madams and went back to bed.
However, I couldn't get back to sleep. I lay there cringing, waiting for them to start up their unholy warbling again. All day, I half expected a furious hammering on the front door where I would find an extremely unhappy neighbour. I wouldn't blame them. Strangely, the day passed without interruption. This didn't make me complacent.
Hens gently bokking is a lovely sound, but squawking, gobby, banshee hens are not music to the ears. With a resigned sigh, I covered the 'window' in to the convent with a bin bag and resolved to close the pop hole until a reasonable time. At 7.30 last night, the chooks put themselves to bed. At 8pm, I locked them in.
I spent an anxious night, hoping and praying that they would stay quiet in the dark coop. At 7.15 this morning, I let them out. They ambled blearily in to the light and tucked in to their breakfast. The first bok wasn't heard until 9.30. So, from now on, my girls are under house arrest until a decent time of day.
And yes, I do feel guilty.
I managed to unlock the door, and flew outside with my heart in my mouth. There was no fox. Or any sign of digging. What there was, were three extremely pleased with themselves gobby hens. They stopped 'singing' and lined up by the run door. I glared at them. They stared back. I turned my back on the little madams and went back to bed.
However, I couldn't get back to sleep. I lay there cringing, waiting for them to start up their unholy warbling again. All day, I half expected a furious hammering on the front door where I would find an extremely unhappy neighbour. I wouldn't blame them. Strangely, the day passed without interruption. This didn't make me complacent.
Hens gently bokking is a lovely sound, but squawking, gobby, banshee hens are not music to the ears. With a resigned sigh, I covered the 'window' in to the convent with a bin bag and resolved to close the pop hole until a reasonable time. At 7.30 last night, the chooks put themselves to bed. At 8pm, I locked them in.
I spent an anxious night, hoping and praying that they would stay quiet in the dark coop. At 7.15 this morning, I let them out. They ambled blearily in to the light and tucked in to their breakfast. The first bok wasn't heard until 9.30. So, from now on, my girls are under house arrest until a decent time of day.
And yes, I do feel guilty.
Saturday, 17 April 2010
The Foundation Stage
Today the ever tolerant husband and I had to get the garden ready for the new patio. Luckily, the weather was glorious and we spent a few blissful hours hoiking pots from one end of the garden to the other while the chooks did their best to trip us up. We couldn't put it off forever, though, and in the end we had to tackle moving the coop.
Our eldest made himself very useful by clearing out the run (a task much easier for a small person) while our youngest was followed around by an eager crowd of greedy hens being fed freshly unearthed worms. The ever tolerant husband and I ummed and aahed for a bit as to the best way to move the extended Convent, and in the end settled for stripping it down as much as possible and then just going for it in the hope that it wouldn't disintegrate.
As I gripped one end, the ever tolerant husband got in to the run, flipped back the hinged roof of the extended 'conservatory' area and stood up clutching both sides. With an agreed signal, we shuffle-walked the coop down the garden. The chooks watched this bizarre procession silently. Landing the Convent near the greenhouse, I set about putting it back together while the ever tolerant husband set about moving the compost bin.
The girls tentatively approached their home in its new location. A fair bit of chuntering ensued, as they explored this odd turn of events. They embarked on a tour of the accomodation, making sure that everything was as it should be, albeit eight foot further down the garden than they were used to. Deciding that this wasn't too bad a circumstance, they resumed sunbathing.
Moving the compost bin proved trickier than first imagined, with the result that a good deal of half composted, er, compost, is now in a heap where the new patio is to go. Now, for us, this isn't a disaster, but it isn't a blessing either. The same could not be said from the chooks' point of view. They have enjoyed a veritable banquet of squirmy, squiggly things.
Our eldest made himself very useful by clearing out the run (a task much easier for a small person) while our youngest was followed around by an eager crowd of greedy hens being fed freshly unearthed worms. The ever tolerant husband and I ummed and aahed for a bit as to the best way to move the extended Convent, and in the end settled for stripping it down as much as possible and then just going for it in the hope that it wouldn't disintegrate.
As I gripped one end, the ever tolerant husband got in to the run, flipped back the hinged roof of the extended 'conservatory' area and stood up clutching both sides. With an agreed signal, we shuffle-walked the coop down the garden. The chooks watched this bizarre procession silently. Landing the Convent near the greenhouse, I set about putting it back together while the ever tolerant husband set about moving the compost bin.
The girls tentatively approached their home in its new location. A fair bit of chuntering ensued, as they explored this odd turn of events. They embarked on a tour of the accomodation, making sure that everything was as it should be, albeit eight foot further down the garden than they were used to. Deciding that this wasn't too bad a circumstance, they resumed sunbathing.
Moving the compost bin proved trickier than first imagined, with the result that a good deal of half composted, er, compost, is now in a heap where the new patio is to go. Now, for us, this isn't a disaster, but it isn't a blessing either. The same could not be said from the chooks' point of view. They have enjoyed a veritable banquet of squirmy, squiggly things.
The ladies investigate the goodies available on the compost heap.
Mabel, Margot, Kiki, Doris, Maeve and Maude.
Mabel is Queen of the Castle.
Margot and Kiki.
Purdy puts her best foot forward.
CeCe
Mabel, Maeve and Doris investigating their relocation.
All in all, not a bad day.
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Winter: The Sequel
As we blearily pulled back the curtains this morning, we were greeted by an alarming sight. It had snowed during the night, and two inches of the white stuff covered everything. I couldn't believe it. Usually, snow is greeted with excitement and joy, but this winter there has been so much of the stuff it made me want to weep. We are on solid clay here, and the ground is still water logged from all the snow and rain back in January. This will not help.
Even the children have lost their enthusiasm for snow. Neither of them ran about in it on the way to school, preferring to keep their feet warm and dry. Everyone looks vaguely crestfallen at this step backwards. I was planning on getting outside to pot up some seedlings today, but have had to shelve those plans. Oh, to feel the warmth from the sun!
The chooks took it badly, too. Hearing me undo the door to the run, they excitedly bowled down the ramp from the coop, scrabbling over each other in their eagerness to get out and destroy the garden. With marvellous comic timing, they all screeched to a halt at the threshold of the Convent, and muttered about the cold stuff. Margot stretched her ostrich-like neck out and pecked at it, then reeled her head in again to report on the fact that, yes, it really was that cold, wet stuff again. Much chuntering amongst themselves ensued. Kiki bravely stepped out of the door way, and hopped about a bit. The others watched with interest. Kiki stepped from one spindly leg to the other, alternately holding her foot up to her body. This quickly turned in to a hopping dance, and she legged it back on to the warm and dry aubiose.
Mabel considered all the evidence, and then regally turned and glided back up the ramp for the safety of the coop. The others watched their illustrious leader, and then followed her lead. Celia and Purdy stood on the doorstep to the garage, craning their necks down at the unfamiliar ground covering. They watched Kiki's war dance, and then the retreat of the big girls. With some pathetic bokking, they re-perched on the side of the brooder.
No one is coming out to play.
Even the children have lost their enthusiasm for snow. Neither of them ran about in it on the way to school, preferring to keep their feet warm and dry. Everyone looks vaguely crestfallen at this step backwards. I was planning on getting outside to pot up some seedlings today, but have had to shelve those plans. Oh, to feel the warmth from the sun!
The chooks took it badly, too. Hearing me undo the door to the run, they excitedly bowled down the ramp from the coop, scrabbling over each other in their eagerness to get out and destroy the garden. With marvellous comic timing, they all screeched to a halt at the threshold of the Convent, and muttered about the cold stuff. Margot stretched her ostrich-like neck out and pecked at it, then reeled her head in again to report on the fact that, yes, it really was that cold, wet stuff again. Much chuntering amongst themselves ensued. Kiki bravely stepped out of the door way, and hopped about a bit. The others watched with interest. Kiki stepped from one spindly leg to the other, alternately holding her foot up to her body. This quickly turned in to a hopping dance, and she legged it back on to the warm and dry aubiose.
Mabel considered all the evidence, and then regally turned and glided back up the ramp for the safety of the coop. The others watched their illustrious leader, and then followed her lead. Celia and Purdy stood on the doorstep to the garage, craning their necks down at the unfamiliar ground covering. They watched Kiki's war dance, and then the retreat of the big girls. With some pathetic bokking, they re-perched on the side of the brooder.
No one is coming out to play.
Monday, 22 March 2010
On The Prowl
I am not a massive cat fan. No particular reason, but I would always consider myself more of a dog person. Dogs seem to offer unending devotion, where as a cat might move in two doors down because they buy a better brand of cat food. Their affection seems rather...transcient. That said, there have been a few cats that I have grown rather fond of. When we first moved in, there was a local moggy that we nicknamed Carpet Cat. It was a big, soppy, lazy tom, who would happily lay on your feet while you sat in the garden. Carpet Cat would even tolerate being dragged about the garden by the then toddling children, a resigned and indulgent expression on his face. He was unendingly gentle and patient. One day I realsied that I hadn't seen good old CC for a while, and he has never been seen since. I like to think that he found somewhere to live where the humans served fresh salmon, although a more sinister ending is probably more likely.
So, me and cats have rubbed along ok for the most part. My lovely chicken sitting neighbour has two posh long haired kitties who have the unfortunate belief that my front lawn is a toilet. Too posh to bury their leavings, my lawn is often dotted with little whirls of very stinky poo. My lovely neighbour can be regularly seen scooping the poop (she really is lovely). However, now that I keep chickens, my relationship with the feline species has altered. Where as before they were a distant sometime irritation, they are now a real threat.
In the last few months, we have aquired two determined hunters. The first one, a sleek black fellow, turned up shortly after christmas. He was a particularly skilled hunter, and could slink into the garden unseen. He kept himself hidden, and was only spotted by the ever tolerant husband. Now, the birds never even detected his presence, which was very worrying. I chased him out of the garden a couple of times, and touch wood, he hasn't returned. I suspect that he may have stuck to the shadows because the girls probably look quite a lot bigger close up than they do from the safety of the fence. Basically, I don't think he liked his chances.
The second chicken worrier showed up at the weekend. Thankfully, this young cat has a collar with bell fitted, and the birds heard it coming. An almighty racket alerted me to an intruder, and when I rushed outside I saw the white and ginger kitten bouncing around the lawn chasing the badly frightened birds. Reacting purely on instinct, I chased our unwelcome visitor over the fence with a hiss (the neighbours now really think I'm some kind of loopy animal impersonator). Finding a smattering of feathers on the lawn, I feared the worst. The girls had fled to the coop, and one by one I looked them over. The feathers belonged to Kiki, but she appeared to have no injuries. I can only assume that the speed in which she took off down the garden left some of her plummage behind. I watched the flock anxiously for the next couple of hours, fingers crossed that stress wouldn't overcome any of them. A dollop of apple cider vinegar in their drinker made me feel better.
This morning our feline visitor returned. The girls sent up the alarm call early, and I got to the back door just in time to see it drop behind the greenhouse. Again, I ran up the garden hissing like a mentalist and chased it off. The likelihood of a small cat mauling a hen is pretty small, but the stress and panic caused to the bird from being 'played' with can be lethal.
I will not be befriending this cat.
So, me and cats have rubbed along ok for the most part. My lovely chicken sitting neighbour has two posh long haired kitties who have the unfortunate belief that my front lawn is a toilet. Too posh to bury their leavings, my lawn is often dotted with little whirls of very stinky poo. My lovely neighbour can be regularly seen scooping the poop (she really is lovely). However, now that I keep chickens, my relationship with the feline species has altered. Where as before they were a distant sometime irritation, they are now a real threat.
In the last few months, we have aquired two determined hunters. The first one, a sleek black fellow, turned up shortly after christmas. He was a particularly skilled hunter, and could slink into the garden unseen. He kept himself hidden, and was only spotted by the ever tolerant husband. Now, the birds never even detected his presence, which was very worrying. I chased him out of the garden a couple of times, and touch wood, he hasn't returned. I suspect that he may have stuck to the shadows because the girls probably look quite a lot bigger close up than they do from the safety of the fence. Basically, I don't think he liked his chances.
The second chicken worrier showed up at the weekend. Thankfully, this young cat has a collar with bell fitted, and the birds heard it coming. An almighty racket alerted me to an intruder, and when I rushed outside I saw the white and ginger kitten bouncing around the lawn chasing the badly frightened birds. Reacting purely on instinct, I chased our unwelcome visitor over the fence with a hiss (the neighbours now really think I'm some kind of loopy animal impersonator). Finding a smattering of feathers on the lawn, I feared the worst. The girls had fled to the coop, and one by one I looked them over. The feathers belonged to Kiki, but she appeared to have no injuries. I can only assume that the speed in which she took off down the garden left some of her plummage behind. I watched the flock anxiously for the next couple of hours, fingers crossed that stress wouldn't overcome any of them. A dollop of apple cider vinegar in their drinker made me feel better.
This morning our feline visitor returned. The girls sent up the alarm call early, and I got to the back door just in time to see it drop behind the greenhouse. Again, I ran up the garden hissing like a mentalist and chased it off. The likelihood of a small cat mauling a hen is pretty small, but the stress and panic caused to the bird from being 'played' with can be lethal.
I will not be befriending this cat.
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Hormonal Harpies
Spring is definitely in the air. I am averaging one egg a day now, so laying has recommenced. Maude and Doris are definitely in lay, and one of the silkies was, I suspect. Probably Kiki, as she has once again decided to go broody.
Maude is an intensely private chicken, and likes to lay alone. She will tolerate Mabel in an emergency, but gripes about it. Therefore, she is not impressed with Kiki's best russian hat impersonation in her favourite nest box.
There was much bokking and grumbling from Maude yesterday, which is quite unusual. She strutted around the garden beaking off, quite clearly narked about something. Every time I go outside, she crouches in front of me. Very inconvenient when you're carrying heavy feed bags or young chicks. I have barely avoided stepping on the brazen hussy on a number of occassions. She isn't generally noisy with her hormonal upsurge, though, so I realised that something was afoot.
The rest of the flock were interested in Maude's singing, but not enough to investigate. That would mean moving from their 'flattened from above' sunbathing positions on the decking. I noticed that Kiki was missing, and found her pancaked in the nest box. Now, a flattened, broody pekin still leaves room for a determined, non-broody flock mate to squeeze in beside her to lay (and deliver a few disgruntled pecks). A broody silkie does not. Kiki's prone form oozes in to the very corners of the nest box, and she will not move. Maude kept wandering in to the coop, yelling at Kiki, pecking at her a bit, then storming off down the garden, with much bok-ARK-ing and flapping of wings.
Sometimes I intervene in these matters, but I rarely do any good. So, I decided to let them get on with it. A good hour later, there arose an almighty clamour from the Convent. Maude had finally given in, and gone in to the least favoured nest box to lay. The militantly broody Kiki had attempted to steal the egg before it had totally left Maude's rear end. There are some indignities not to be borne, and not surprisingly Maude went a little bit velociraptor on the daft silkie. I rescued the egg, removed Maude's talons from Kiki's fur, and deposited both hens on the ground. Maude grumbled, strutted, and delivered one more swift peck on Kiki's bouffanted bonce, before stalking off.
Kiki ignored all of this, she is so deeply in the zone.
Maude is an intensely private chicken, and likes to lay alone. She will tolerate Mabel in an emergency, but gripes about it. Therefore, she is not impressed with Kiki's best russian hat impersonation in her favourite nest box.
There was much bokking and grumbling from Maude yesterday, which is quite unusual. She strutted around the garden beaking off, quite clearly narked about something. Every time I go outside, she crouches in front of me. Very inconvenient when you're carrying heavy feed bags or young chicks. I have barely avoided stepping on the brazen hussy on a number of occassions. She isn't generally noisy with her hormonal upsurge, though, so I realised that something was afoot.
The rest of the flock were interested in Maude's singing, but not enough to investigate. That would mean moving from their 'flattened from above' sunbathing positions on the decking. I noticed that Kiki was missing, and found her pancaked in the nest box. Now, a flattened, broody pekin still leaves room for a determined, non-broody flock mate to squeeze in beside her to lay (and deliver a few disgruntled pecks). A broody silkie does not. Kiki's prone form oozes in to the very corners of the nest box, and she will not move. Maude kept wandering in to the coop, yelling at Kiki, pecking at her a bit, then storming off down the garden, with much bok-ARK-ing and flapping of wings.
Sometimes I intervene in these matters, but I rarely do any good. So, I decided to let them get on with it. A good hour later, there arose an almighty clamour from the Convent. Maude had finally given in, and gone in to the least favoured nest box to lay. The militantly broody Kiki had attempted to steal the egg before it had totally left Maude's rear end. There are some indignities not to be borne, and not surprisingly Maude went a little bit velociraptor on the daft silkie. I rescued the egg, removed Maude's talons from Kiki's fur, and deposited both hens on the ground. Maude grumbled, strutted, and delivered one more swift peck on Kiki's bouffanted bonce, before stalking off.
Kiki ignored all of this, she is so deeply in the zone.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
Few Sunday Pics
I've been outside today scrubbing the Convent, and managed to get a few pics of the girls. Enjoy.
Purdy ad Celia in ther bizarre, glowing red world. The heat lamp is above the shavings in the corner. They remain suspicious of the ramp in to the mini coop.
A close up of the two newest recruits, busy getting bigger.
Kiki, the nosiest silkie, who would quite like to eat the camera.
Maeve, aka ASBO Chicken, posing artfully. She is not totally through her moult yet, as you can see by her less than full cushion. Some of her new feathers have very feint white tips, but her mottled gene must be regressive. Gorgeous beetle green sheen to her feathers in the sunlight.
Doris (who is very camera shy), Maeve and the magnificent Maude. Doris only seems to have had a partial moult this year. Maude's new plummage is even more beautiful than last year, although technically she's the least perfect example of the pekin shape.
All of the established flock. Mabel and Maude on the bench, Margot lurking under the cherry tree and Maeve, Doris and Kiki giving me a watchful eye.
Friday, 29 January 2010
A Difficult Job For The Boss
Its tough being top hen. The responsibility falls to you to align the pecking order, and keep everyone in check. When a member of your flock goes off to that great chicken coop in the sky, there is re-ordering to be done. If there was a cockerel about, he would do a lot of this work for you. However, the Convent is a chicken-bloke free zone, so all of this falls to Mabel.
Mabel is a brilliant top hen. She has just the right balance between benign care of her charges, and aggressive discipline. The others (perhaps with the exception of the social climbing Maeve) seem to respect her position, and heed her warnings. It would be over sentimental to say that the hens are missing Mini, but they are definitely aware that the position of bottom hen is now vacant. Everyone is keen for this place not to be filled by themselves.
So, today, there is a lot of pecking going on. The lower hens are sneaking up on each other and attempting to deliver a swift dig to the top of their opponents head. If the opponent wants to keep their position in the flock, they won't back down. A surprise attack often results in a surprised squawking and waddling away in to the shrubbery, though, and instantly the victim finds herself below her attacker in the social structure.
This process of re-jigging is always stressful for both the birds and anxious keeper. This squabbling can quickly escalate in to all out warfare, so I am very glad that Mabel is taking charge. Everyone but Maude is being squashed to the floor, as she asserts her dominance. No one is hurt in this display, but the squashed hen always looks a little sheepish afterwards.
The silkies pose a problem to Mabel. As the last members of the flock to be integrated, they are the most logical choice for the bottom two. They don't appear to hold ambitions of flock domination themselves, so should be easy targets. The problem is, they have long, road-runner-style legs, and can out run even a flat out pekin waddle. Mabel can't catch them. On the odd occassion that she does, she can't jump up on to their backs. They simply stand still, with their head to one side, and watch the demented ball of feathers bouncing next to them. This makes Mabel look ridiculous, but is hilarious to watch.
Mabel has apparently been working on this issue. This morning, while watching the girls in the garden, I noticed that she was stood on the rim of a large plant pot. Her stillness was odd, so it caught my attention. The others mooched around, plotting head pecking and looking nonchalent. As Margot ambled closer to Mabel's plant pot, Mabel assumed a take off position. Clever girl, thought I, as Mabel launched herself at the now-in-range Margot. With a startled 'Bok-ARK!', Margot was flattened. Mabel pinned her for a few seconds, and then dismounted her underling. She strolled off with a satisfied swagger, with the other hens as an audience. Kiki approached her stunned sister, still splatted in to the mud. Margot shook herself and stood up, and the two silkies began a low chuntering, no doubt discussing this new development.
Mabel reigns supreme.
Mabel is a brilliant top hen. She has just the right balance between benign care of her charges, and aggressive discipline. The others (perhaps with the exception of the social climbing Maeve) seem to respect her position, and heed her warnings. It would be over sentimental to say that the hens are missing Mini, but they are definitely aware that the position of bottom hen is now vacant. Everyone is keen for this place not to be filled by themselves.
So, today, there is a lot of pecking going on. The lower hens are sneaking up on each other and attempting to deliver a swift dig to the top of their opponents head. If the opponent wants to keep their position in the flock, they won't back down. A surprise attack often results in a surprised squawking and waddling away in to the shrubbery, though, and instantly the victim finds herself below her attacker in the social structure.
This process of re-jigging is always stressful for both the birds and anxious keeper. This squabbling can quickly escalate in to all out warfare, so I am very glad that Mabel is taking charge. Everyone but Maude is being squashed to the floor, as she asserts her dominance. No one is hurt in this display, but the squashed hen always looks a little sheepish afterwards.
The silkies pose a problem to Mabel. As the last members of the flock to be integrated, they are the most logical choice for the bottom two. They don't appear to hold ambitions of flock domination themselves, so should be easy targets. The problem is, they have long, road-runner-style legs, and can out run even a flat out pekin waddle. Mabel can't catch them. On the odd occassion that she does, she can't jump up on to their backs. They simply stand still, with their head to one side, and watch the demented ball of feathers bouncing next to them. This makes Mabel look ridiculous, but is hilarious to watch.
Mabel has apparently been working on this issue. This morning, while watching the girls in the garden, I noticed that she was stood on the rim of a large plant pot. Her stillness was odd, so it caught my attention. The others mooched around, plotting head pecking and looking nonchalent. As Margot ambled closer to Mabel's plant pot, Mabel assumed a take off position. Clever girl, thought I, as Mabel launched herself at the now-in-range Margot. With a startled 'Bok-ARK!', Margot was flattened. Mabel pinned her for a few seconds, and then dismounted her underling. She strolled off with a satisfied swagger, with the other hens as an audience. Kiki approached her stunned sister, still splatted in to the mud. Margot shook herself and stood up, and the two silkies began a low chuntering, no doubt discussing this new development.
Mabel reigns supreme.
Thursday, 31 December 2009
The Dawning Of A New Year....
Well, here we are. The hundredth post. As I look back through my ramblings, I realise just how much has happened in my chicken keeping adventure this year. I have suffered my first losses, handled introductions, dealt with illnesses beyond count, got to grips with broody hens and coaxed the flock through it's first major moult. All in all, it's been an intense learning experience.
Mini is hanging in there, and has rejoined her flockmates. Her eye is hideously swollen and, I now know, irretrievably lost. Sad as that makes me, I can't help but smile as she potters around the garden, offering the odd 'meh-meh!' into the general chicken chatter.
Kiki is still stubbonly broody, although she is a gentle wannabe mum, and not as psychotic as some of my ladies. I unceremoniously dump her on to the freezing lawn a couple of times a day, where she sits for several minutes in her broody trance, resembling a russian hat.
My mighty Mille's are ruling their roost as usual. Both girls have had a fairly radical makeover since their moult and are absolutely stunning. Mabel watches over her flock with a keen eye, and if she detects any mutiny in the ranks waddles over to the offending hen and sits on her. Maude occassionally assists her in rounding up offenders.
Doris is still moulting, so is keeping herself under the radar. She sometimes has a half hearted bok, but the enthusiasm isn't there. I'm guessing that she'll find her voice again in the spring.
Maeve is still a small chicken with a big attitude. When I think back to the small ball of feathers we brought home, I can hardly believe that it's the same bird. I'm quite nervous at the thought of a broody Maeve, to be honest.
Margot is the hardiest hen I have. Whatever the weather, Margot can be seen goose stepping around the garden. Whether this is because she genuinely doesn't mind the wet, or whether she has simply forgotten how to get back to the coop remains open to debate. Bless.
I have many plans for the new year. We aim to be moving in the spring, and that means transporting my girls. It also means new lodgings for the chooks, and I have many ideas I can't wait to put into practice.
Maybe I'll even get my frizzle pekin....
Happy New Year, from the madchickenlady, and the chooks! x
Mini is hanging in there, and has rejoined her flockmates. Her eye is hideously swollen and, I now know, irretrievably lost. Sad as that makes me, I can't help but smile as she potters around the garden, offering the odd 'meh-meh!' into the general chicken chatter.
Kiki is still stubbonly broody, although she is a gentle wannabe mum, and not as psychotic as some of my ladies. I unceremoniously dump her on to the freezing lawn a couple of times a day, where she sits for several minutes in her broody trance, resembling a russian hat.
My mighty Mille's are ruling their roost as usual. Both girls have had a fairly radical makeover since their moult and are absolutely stunning. Mabel watches over her flock with a keen eye, and if she detects any mutiny in the ranks waddles over to the offending hen and sits on her. Maude occassionally assists her in rounding up offenders.
Doris is still moulting, so is keeping herself under the radar. She sometimes has a half hearted bok, but the enthusiasm isn't there. I'm guessing that she'll find her voice again in the spring.
Maeve is still a small chicken with a big attitude. When I think back to the small ball of feathers we brought home, I can hardly believe that it's the same bird. I'm quite nervous at the thought of a broody Maeve, to be honest.
Margot is the hardiest hen I have. Whatever the weather, Margot can be seen goose stepping around the garden. Whether this is because she genuinely doesn't mind the wet, or whether she has simply forgotten how to get back to the coop remains open to debate. Bless.
I have many plans for the new year. We aim to be moving in the spring, and that means transporting my girls. It also means new lodgings for the chooks, and I have many ideas I can't wait to put into practice.
Maybe I'll even get my frizzle pekin....
Happy New Year, from the madchickenlady, and the chooks! x
Sunday, 20 December 2009
Chilled Chickens
The weather is bitterly cold. It hasn't got above freezing for several days, and I have to break the ice in the girls' drinker several times a day. We had a smattering of snow which has now frozen solid. The decking by the back door is like an ice rink. Every so often, a small hen goes whizzing past the glass with a confused look in her eye. Chickens do not like snow, ice or anything else which is damp and cold.
For the most part, the girls are staying inside. Margot seems the least bothered by the weather, and is often seen skidding about the garden. Maeve and Doris venture out for brief periods of foraging, but retreat to the coop after a while. Mabel and Maude are having none of it, and other than quick trips to the food and water, stay perched up high in the Convent, muttering.
Kiki, for reasons best known to herself, has decided that this cold spell is the perfect time to go broody. She sits in the nestbox, guarding her eggs, and growling if anyone gets too close. I am unceremoniously dumping her on the cold lawn a couple of times a day.
Mini is still holed up in the greenhouse. She spends a lot of time in her coop, but comes out periodically for a scratch about and dinner. I tried to encourage her to explore a bit further today, and she made a beeline for the Convent. Maude chased her and grabbed a beakful of tail feathers. It is not ideal to have the bottom hen out of the fold. Mini scarpered to the border, and sat looking miserable. I scooped her up and put her back in the greenhouse, where she wont be picked on. Feeling sorry for her, I also roped in Margot, and the two hens are now snuggled up together in the little coop. I am considering rotating the gentler hens, so that Mini is not without allies when the time comes for her to return to the main coop. Kiki and Doris should be friendly enough.
Mini's eye is looking worse by the day. The gunky stuff has now covered her eye, and appears to have blood vessels through it. I would bet money on it being a cyst. It is swollen, but doesn't appear to be causing her pain. I think that the eye is irretrievably lost, and that saddens me, but I hope that she'll adapt and have many years ahead of her.
I long for this to have a happy ending.
For the most part, the girls are staying inside. Margot seems the least bothered by the weather, and is often seen skidding about the garden. Maeve and Doris venture out for brief periods of foraging, but retreat to the coop after a while. Mabel and Maude are having none of it, and other than quick trips to the food and water, stay perched up high in the Convent, muttering.
Kiki, for reasons best known to herself, has decided that this cold spell is the perfect time to go broody. She sits in the nestbox, guarding her eggs, and growling if anyone gets too close. I am unceremoniously dumping her on the cold lawn a couple of times a day.
Mini is still holed up in the greenhouse. She spends a lot of time in her coop, but comes out periodically for a scratch about and dinner. I tried to encourage her to explore a bit further today, and she made a beeline for the Convent. Maude chased her and grabbed a beakful of tail feathers. It is not ideal to have the bottom hen out of the fold. Mini scarpered to the border, and sat looking miserable. I scooped her up and put her back in the greenhouse, where she wont be picked on. Feeling sorry for her, I also roped in Margot, and the two hens are now snuggled up together in the little coop. I am considering rotating the gentler hens, so that Mini is not without allies when the time comes for her to return to the main coop. Kiki and Doris should be friendly enough.
Mini's eye is looking worse by the day. The gunky stuff has now covered her eye, and appears to have blood vessels through it. I would bet money on it being a cyst. It is swollen, but doesn't appear to be causing her pain. I think that the eye is irretrievably lost, and that saddens me, but I hope that she'll adapt and have many years ahead of her.
I long for this to have a happy ending.
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
The First Winter Storm
The moulting ladies are now looking much more respectable, with most feathers at least present now. I for one am very glad, as the weather has taken a decidedly wintry turn here in the midlands. The girls can be seen snuggled together in the border, heads tucked in, trying to keep warm. For the purposes of heat retention, even the silkie's are being tolerated.
We are expecting our first spell of rotten weather later on today, so straight after the school run I prepared the coop. Clearing away last nights droppings, I have added more sawdust to the nest boxes (where Doris sleeps in one, and Margot and Kiki in the other) and a fresh, thick layer of newspaper on the floor (where Mini sleeps next to the door). Mabel. Maude and Maeve sleep high up on the perch, although this might change as the temperature drops.
We are expecting strong winds and driving rain, probably the worst kind of weather for short legged, fluffy hens. I know that the pekins will take themselves off to the shelter of the Convent the second the rain starts to fall, but I can guarantee that I'll be chasing the road runner-esque silkie's around the run in an attempt to keep them warm and dry.
I might even mix up some porridge for my ladies this afternoon.
We are expecting our first spell of rotten weather later on today, so straight after the school run I prepared the coop. Clearing away last nights droppings, I have added more sawdust to the nest boxes (where Doris sleeps in one, and Margot and Kiki in the other) and a fresh, thick layer of newspaper on the floor (where Mini sleeps next to the door). Mabel. Maude and Maeve sleep high up on the perch, although this might change as the temperature drops.
We are expecting strong winds and driving rain, probably the worst kind of weather for short legged, fluffy hens. I know that the pekins will take themselves off to the shelter of the Convent the second the rain starts to fall, but I can guarantee that I'll be chasing the road runner-esque silkie's around the run in an attempt to keep them warm and dry.
I might even mix up some porridge for my ladies this afternoon.
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