Not long after I wrote the last entry, we had a rather spectacular thunderstorm. I sat in the kitchen with friends, drinking a lovely cup of tea, having a nice chat and watching the monsoon through the patio doors. It was a serious downpour, and the patio was soon under a skim of water. Oooh, I thought, that's impressive. The bathroom fitter wandered in and told me that the garage was a bit flooded. This isn't unusual, as we often get some water under the garage door. I blithely shrugged it off.
This was a mistake, it turns out. The garage was under several inches of water, which explains why the bathroom fitter looked at me like I was crackers when I smiled and nodded instead of rushing outside with a bucket. When my friends left, a good twenty minutes later, I thought perhaps I ought to check on the peeps.
I found them literally splashing about in their brooder. The woodshavings had expanded, making a deep, waterlogged mire. The peeps were bravely battling the elements, being tossed about by the tide in my garage. With a shriek I grabbed them up. They all looked at me in an interested sort of way, and then attempted to take off back to their watery assault course. The cat carrier was near to hand, so I threw in some dry wood sahvings and deposited the protesting peeps. Once they were safely placed on the kitchen table, next to the radiator, they instantly fell asleep. Far too much excitement for one afternoon.
The ever tolerant husband sprinted home from work, and we set about sweeping our new indoor pool out in to the drain. Several telephone directories were employed in helping to mop up the residue, and I put the heat lamp on full to dry out the brooder area. After two hours of very wet work, I could return the peeps to their mostly dry abode. They seem unharmed by their paddle, thankfully, but have since learned to fly. Probably wise.
Doris has a slightly swollen eyelid, and I am watching her with mild concern. After everything that happened with poor Mini, I am reluctant to even consider that this might be the same kind of infection. My past experiences have led me to immediately consider the worst. However, the other girls all seem healthy, and Doris is no longer coughing, so it's a case of fingers crossed.
I did find a broken egg in the nest box this morning. The shell appeared to be just membrane, so I'm assuming that this is my first 'softy'. Eggs are sometimes laid without a hard shell, although this is more common in a hen just coming in to lay or a hen nearing the end of her laying life. I'm not sure of the culprit, and all seem well enough. I'm thinking it could be Purdy, who is over her broody spell, or Mabel, who has been strange with her alying habits for a while.
We shall see.