Well, isn't this nice. Doris is now bubbling at both eyes. No signs of respiratory distress (wheezing, coughing etc). If I put my ear to her back there's no scary bubbling sounds. Her face doesn't smell bad, and here nostrils are clear. There is no swelling apart from some slight inner eyelid irritation. None of the other hens seem remotely symptomatic. I could scream.
I last treated Doris for something very similair at the beginning of last November. The vet prescribed Baytril, and I had to bribe my lovely chicken sitter with a bottle of good Merlot to fire the medicine down Doris's throat three times a day. It was a tad stressful for all concerned. I am quite disheartened to find myself back at square one.
Doris is one of four hens that I bought from one breeder. The others were Delilah, Belinda and Mini. Can you spot a connection there? Yep, the other three are all ex-hens, and were within a year. They all died of different conditions and cost a significant amount of money to treat. I thought that perhaps we'd got lucky with Doris. However, within weeks of bringing her home initially she'd had an eye issue. On and off, there have been flare ups of spotty eyelids and bubbling. I can only assume that Doris has dormant myco which comes to the fore when she is stressed/under the weather anyway. Since the New Year I have been adding various tonics and supplements to the girls' feed and water in an effort to ward off the nasties. I am still waiting for the colloidal silver to arrive.
So now I am once again contemplating the vet and yet another course of Baytril. This is not really a good or smart move. I am loathe to go down the route I did with my beloved Mini, spending months and literally hundreds of pounds attempting to cure something which was ultimately uncurable. If I was a breeder, I'd probably be thinking of dispatching Doris off to that big coop in the sky. And yet. Yet, she is a pet. She has been with me now for two and a half years. I cannot and will not see her in pain or suffering. So when I finish this post, I will once again phone the vet. I will attempt to convince him to prescribe the Baytril without making me and a poorly hen trek down to the surgery. If I am successful, I will spend the next seven days wrapping Doris in a towel and forcing meds down her reluctant throat. I will do all this and hope that it works. And all the time I will know that it is probably pointless. That she will probably get ill again. That I am possibly risking the rest of my flock.
Sorry for the depressing post, but I am feeling really quite disheartened.
Showing posts with label Belinda. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Belinda. Show all posts
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Sunday, 10 January 2010
Six Hundred And Fifty Two Is The Magic Number
It's a rather marvellous number, isn't it? Suitably impressive without being grandiose. I am a very proud chook keeper. You see, it is the total number of eggs my ladies laid in 2009.
Yes, I am that tragic. I sat down with my calculator, and added up every egg tally. That's one hundred and eight half dozen boxes. Brilliant. The ever tolerant husbanad was less impressed. As I attempted to defend my ladies by reminding him that the eggs we sold had paid for their feed and bedding throughout the summer, therefore making them partially self sufficient, he reminded me that Mini's vets bill's alone added up to more than any revenue made on the eggs. Ah.
Still, as I watch my cyclops chicken wander about the run with her head cocked at an odd angle, muttering 'meh-meh!' at no one in particular, I can't help but think that she's worth it. I am also reminded that some of those eggs were provided by flock members no longer with us, and Delilah and Belinda did their part. I hope that they are busy scoffing corn in the great chicken run in the sky.
This year, I predict that my egg total will top seven hundred.
Because I will probably aquire a few more hens....
Yes, I am that tragic. I sat down with my calculator, and added up every egg tally. That's one hundred and eight half dozen boxes. Brilliant. The ever tolerant husbanad was less impressed. As I attempted to defend my ladies by reminding him that the eggs we sold had paid for their feed and bedding throughout the summer, therefore making them partially self sufficient, he reminded me that Mini's vets bill's alone added up to more than any revenue made on the eggs. Ah.
Still, as I watch my cyclops chicken wander about the run with her head cocked at an odd angle, muttering 'meh-meh!' at no one in particular, I can't help but think that she's worth it. I am also reminded that some of those eggs were provided by flock members no longer with us, and Delilah and Belinda did their part. I hope that they are busy scoffing corn in the great chicken run in the sky.
This year, I predict that my egg total will top seven hundred.
Because I will probably aquire a few more hens....
Thursday, 13 August 2009
The Search Begins
So now we are back down to five chickens. The flock appears to have settled back down, after a few days of Mabel sitting on everyone just to remind them who's boss. My youngest son is still upset over the loss of his beloved Lindy, and my attempts to get him to adopt a different hen haven't been wildly successful. He reared Belinda from a six week old ball of fluff, and suddenly being handed the frankly ginormous Maude is not quite the same. So, I am on a chicken search.
The problem with sourcing chickens, is that there are just not that many to find. Breeders tend to trade amongst themselves, and often sell unwanted birds at auction. Pet shops and garden centres might sell hybrids, but rarely sell bantam pure breeds. If they do, they will be at extortionate prices. So, it becomes a bit of a trial.
I have managed to track down some desirable birds, but they all come with husbands. Not good. The lovely breeder that sold me Maeve has got a couple of cuckoo frizzle bantams coming along nicely, so that is definitely an option. Although they wont be ready for four weeks, as they are still with their mum. The good news is, though, that they are slightly smaller than my pekins, which will definitely help to convince the ever tolerant husband.
Watch this space.....
The problem with sourcing chickens, is that there are just not that many to find. Breeders tend to trade amongst themselves, and often sell unwanted birds at auction. Pet shops and garden centres might sell hybrids, but rarely sell bantam pure breeds. If they do, they will be at extortionate prices. So, it becomes a bit of a trial.
I have managed to track down some desirable birds, but they all come with husbands. Not good. The lovely breeder that sold me Maeve has got a couple of cuckoo frizzle bantams coming along nicely, so that is definitely an option. Although they wont be ready for four weeks, as they are still with their mum. The good news is, though, that they are slightly smaller than my pekins, which will definitely help to convince the ever tolerant husband.
Watch this space.....
Friday, 7 August 2009
Another Sad Loss
When I went out to let the girls free range this morning, I am sorry to report that I found Belinda dead in the run. She was lying by the drinker, with no obvious signs of injury or illness. I think that the poor little hen just gave out. The children are devastated.
Just yesterday, she was naughtily scaling the chicken fencing and legging it across the decking to dust bath in my flower bed. Belinda was a real character, and will be a real loss to the flock. The girls seem unusually quiet today, unsure of this new dynamic. My youngest son owned Belinda, and he is inconsolable.
We shall have a little funeral in the back garden later, and Lindy will be buried by the cherry tree (a favourite place for her to stretch out in the sun).
RIP Lindy x
Just yesterday, she was naughtily scaling the chicken fencing and legging it across the decking to dust bath in my flower bed. Belinda was a real character, and will be a real loss to the flock. The girls seem unusually quiet today, unsure of this new dynamic. My youngest son owned Belinda, and he is inconsolable.
We shall have a little funeral in the back garden later, and Lindy will be buried by the cherry tree (a favourite place for her to stretch out in the sun).
RIP Lindy x
Friday, 26 June 2009
A New Era
Just twenty four hours after ordering it, the new chicken netting arrived. A new era of garden ownership had dawned. As I danced around the kitchen with glee, the chooks watched me from the garden in a huddle.
It took about twenty minutes to erect, and the whole time the girls watched me with curiosity. I nearly stood on Maeve and Mini several times, as they pecked experimentally at the netting poles. The bigger girls kept their distance, and plotted.
Once it was up, I put the girls on their side of the garden. They scratched about a bit, pecked the netting, and then pretty much ignored it. I sat on the bench watching them, and dreamed of having flower borders and being able to walk across the lawn bare foot without squelching in a curry poo. My day dreaming took me into a very happy place, and it was some time before I realised that Maude was sat at my feet, looking up at me.
I couldn't believe it. Ten minutes! That's all the time it took for my resident escape artist to breach the new, metre high barrier. Eyeing her sternly, I put her back over into the Convent's grounds. She clucked happily to the other hens, no doubt imparting her secret. At this point I realised that I hadn't got a chicken that could walk through things, terminator style. I'd forgotten to block off the greenhouse. With that done, the girls were fully enclosed. They went to bed happily, and so did I.
This morning, I let them out into their new exercise yard without any concerns about escapism. You can probably guess what happened next. I heard an almighty racket, and dashed out into the garden to find Maude stood in the middle of the lawn. She ruffled her feathers at me, bokked a bit, and then watched me to see what I would do. I unceremoniously dumped her back over the new chicken netting. She looked at me pityingly.
Twenty minutes later, she had taught Mini and Belinda to cross over, too. She's an evil genius chicken.
Someone has clearly forgotten to inform Maude that pekins can't fly.
It took about twenty minutes to erect, and the whole time the girls watched me with curiosity. I nearly stood on Maeve and Mini several times, as they pecked experimentally at the netting poles. The bigger girls kept their distance, and plotted.
Once it was up, I put the girls on their side of the garden. They scratched about a bit, pecked the netting, and then pretty much ignored it. I sat on the bench watching them, and dreamed of having flower borders and being able to walk across the lawn bare foot without squelching in a curry poo. My day dreaming took me into a very happy place, and it was some time before I realised that Maude was sat at my feet, looking up at me.
I couldn't believe it. Ten minutes! That's all the time it took for my resident escape artist to breach the new, metre high barrier. Eyeing her sternly, I put her back over into the Convent's grounds. She clucked happily to the other hens, no doubt imparting her secret. At this point I realised that I hadn't got a chicken that could walk through things, terminator style. I'd forgotten to block off the greenhouse. With that done, the girls were fully enclosed. They went to bed happily, and so did I.
This morning, I let them out into their new exercise yard without any concerns about escapism. You can probably guess what happened next. I heard an almighty racket, and dashed out into the garden to find Maude stood in the middle of the lawn. She ruffled her feathers at me, bokked a bit, and then watched me to see what I would do. I unceremoniously dumped her back over the new chicken netting. She looked at me pityingly.
Twenty minutes later, she had taught Mini and Belinda to cross over, too. She's an evil genius chicken.
Someone has clearly forgotten to inform Maude that pekins can't fly.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
New Chicks On The Block
There is more or less constant screeching in the garden now. I know for a fact that the neighbours are reaching the end of their tether, with at least one 'Shaddup!!!' yelled out of a window. The girls are most put out.
A new bird family has moved into the area. We've yet to track down the exact site of the nest, but the racket those babies make is something else. The chooks are uncharacteristically quiet, even cutting short their egg laying celebration songs, because frankly, they can't compete. They have taken to bad temperedly bokking lowly as they strut around their domain, glancing up at the roof and neighbouring trees, trying to work out where the interlopers are.
I'm used to the girls' various sounds. They are familiar enough to me now that I can tell their 'voices' apart, and usually why they are making a racket. Luckily, my neighbours seem to find Belinda's 'Ooooohhhhh Nooooooooooo!' pre egg laying chuntering soothing, and Doris's 'Aaarghhh! Look! A cloud!' alarmist rantings comical. No one is as fond of the new bird song.
It is particularly loud, shrill and repetitive. It also starts at sun up. Is it wrong that part of me is delighted? Who will complain about my, by comparison, extremely reasonable ladies?
A new bird family has moved into the area. We've yet to track down the exact site of the nest, but the racket those babies make is something else. The chooks are uncharacteristically quiet, even cutting short their egg laying celebration songs, because frankly, they can't compete. They have taken to bad temperedly bokking lowly as they strut around their domain, glancing up at the roof and neighbouring trees, trying to work out where the interlopers are.
I'm used to the girls' various sounds. They are familiar enough to me now that I can tell their 'voices' apart, and usually why they are making a racket. Luckily, my neighbours seem to find Belinda's 'Ooooohhhhh Nooooooooooo!' pre egg laying chuntering soothing, and Doris's 'Aaarghhh! Look! A cloud!' alarmist rantings comical. No one is as fond of the new bird song.
It is particularly loud, shrill and repetitive. It also starts at sun up. Is it wrong that part of me is delighted? Who will complain about my, by comparison, extremely reasonable ladies?
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Handbags At Dawn
All hell appears to have broken loose amongst the flock. I'm not sure if Maeve's adolescence has caused the unrest, but I certainly hope that it settles down soon. Doris and Belinda have fallen out, big time.
Both hens were in the nest box, and I could hear a bit of squawking. This isn't unusual, and is generally just a matter of one girl moving up a bit so that the other can wedge herself into the preferred nest. I returned to watering the greenhouse. The squawking reached a crescendo, and suddenly Belinda came running down the ramp from the coop, muttered and shook her head a bit, and then ran back in. Again, this wouldn't be that unusual, as Lindy loathes laying eggs, and often legs it if she thinks she can escape from her duty. This 'in and out' series of events was played out a couple of times more, with Belinda becoming more and more agitated. With a desperate effort, she flew up on top of the coop, presumably so that she could abseil down the other side and surprise Doris into giving up the nest. It was at this point that my eldest son noticed that Lindy was bleeding. A lot.
I rushed over to the frantic hen and picked her up. Lindy's comb was literally running with blood, and she was keeping her eyes shut. The ever tolerant husband bounded up the stairs to fetch a towel to wrap the shocked bird into, so that I could begin to examine her. With a cloth and some cold water, I set about trying to clean her up. Belinda stayed perfectly still, and I was relieved to see her open her eyes. The main injury seemed to be to the base of her comb, where some of the flesh was missing. She also had multiple cuts and scrapes along her face.
The ever tolerant husband fed her a couple of raisins, which she scoffed greedily. We breathed a collective sigh of relief. A greedy chicken is a basically ok chicken. Digging out the gentian violet, we managed to dab it on to her injuries. Now that we knew she was alright, our thoughts turned to her (usually) best chook pal, Doris.
Doris was still in the nest box, Belinda's blood across her beak. There were also blood splatters in the coop. Firmly, the youngest son grasped her and dumped her on the floor. Belinda is his chicken, and he was taking it personally. I fetched the broody cage, and deposited a disgruntled Doris into it. Belinda was then free to lay her egg in peace, which she managed in record time. I then released Doris, so that she could lay her egg.
Belinda by this time was mooching about the garden, happily munching stray aphids and scratching at the lawn. All of a sudden, a demented Maeve leaped from the shrubbery with a war cry and a battle of epic proportions commenced. Maeve is obviously unhappy with her positioning in the pecking order, and decided to try and take out Lindy. Neither bird would submit, and the feathers were starting to fly. I waded in, with cries of 'Leave it out! She's just not worth it!' etc, and they reluctantly retreated to their own corners. Five minutes later, they were at it again.
Change is afoot.
Both hens were in the nest box, and I could hear a bit of squawking. This isn't unusual, and is generally just a matter of one girl moving up a bit so that the other can wedge herself into the preferred nest. I returned to watering the greenhouse. The squawking reached a crescendo, and suddenly Belinda came running down the ramp from the coop, muttered and shook her head a bit, and then ran back in. Again, this wouldn't be that unusual, as Lindy loathes laying eggs, and often legs it if she thinks she can escape from her duty. This 'in and out' series of events was played out a couple of times more, with Belinda becoming more and more agitated. With a desperate effort, she flew up on top of the coop, presumably so that she could abseil down the other side and surprise Doris into giving up the nest. It was at this point that my eldest son noticed that Lindy was bleeding. A lot.
I rushed over to the frantic hen and picked her up. Lindy's comb was literally running with blood, and she was keeping her eyes shut. The ever tolerant husband bounded up the stairs to fetch a towel to wrap the shocked bird into, so that I could begin to examine her. With a cloth and some cold water, I set about trying to clean her up. Belinda stayed perfectly still, and I was relieved to see her open her eyes. The main injury seemed to be to the base of her comb, where some of the flesh was missing. She also had multiple cuts and scrapes along her face.
The ever tolerant husband fed her a couple of raisins, which she scoffed greedily. We breathed a collective sigh of relief. A greedy chicken is a basically ok chicken. Digging out the gentian violet, we managed to dab it on to her injuries. Now that we knew she was alright, our thoughts turned to her (usually) best chook pal, Doris.
Doris was still in the nest box, Belinda's blood across her beak. There were also blood splatters in the coop. Firmly, the youngest son grasped her and dumped her on the floor. Belinda is his chicken, and he was taking it personally. I fetched the broody cage, and deposited a disgruntled Doris into it. Belinda was then free to lay her egg in peace, which she managed in record time. I then released Doris, so that she could lay her egg.
Belinda by this time was mooching about the garden, happily munching stray aphids and scratching at the lawn. All of a sudden, a demented Maeve leaped from the shrubbery with a war cry and a battle of epic proportions commenced. Maeve is obviously unhappy with her positioning in the pecking order, and decided to try and take out Lindy. Neither bird would submit, and the feathers were starting to fly. I waded in, with cries of 'Leave it out! She's just not worth it!' etc, and they reluctantly retreated to their own corners. Five minutes later, they were at it again.
Change is afoot.
Friday, 29 May 2009
An Early Morning Visitor
Now that Maeve is in the Convent with the other girls, I have been leaving the pop hole open so that should they decide to attempt chickenicide she can escape into the run. This has worked well for the last week or so, so last night I thought nothing of leaving this arrangement in place.
This morning, I was woken at 6am by an almighty racket. I assumed it was Doris making an egg announcement, but blearily made my way down to hush them. The neighbours have been fab about the chooks, but I could see this dawn chorus ending in complaints. I shuffled out in the early morning sunshine to the coop, and opened the door. All of the girls bar Maeve were sitting on the floor, silent. Maeve was doing her best road runner impression around the run, obviously thinking that I'd come down to let them out. I sleepily muttered a 'shush!' then went back to bed.
At a more respectable hour, when I was a lot more with it, I went out to open the run. That's when I noticed that the side gate was unlocked, and open. This was my over sight, as the kids were playing out and I was too lazy to keep opening the front door to them. Coupled with having an old friend stay over with a bottle of wine, I completely forgot to secure the side gate. Looking back into the run, I suddenly realised that there were quite a lot of feathers blowing about, including a beautiful flight feather which could only have come from Maude.
With a sudden feeling of dread, I opened the coop to do a head count. All girls were present and correct, and I could see no obvious damage to Maude. I suspect that either a cat, or a fox, wandered into the garden courtesy of the side gate early this morning, and that the commotion was an alarm call. In her panic, Maude has bashed herself about and torn out a good few feathers. That'll teach me to get too complacent.
On a happier note, Belinda has been granted an early release and has gotten over her broodiness. Mini will be occupying her cell by the end of today.
One problem with this gorgeous weather and free ranging chooks are the flies. I poo pick daily from the lawn and run, but the copious droppings in the flower beds are a little harder to access. There are now a cloud of vile blue bottles buzzing around the shrubbery. This is an untenable situation.
A solution must be found.
This morning, I was woken at 6am by an almighty racket. I assumed it was Doris making an egg announcement, but blearily made my way down to hush them. The neighbours have been fab about the chooks, but I could see this dawn chorus ending in complaints. I shuffled out in the early morning sunshine to the coop, and opened the door. All of the girls bar Maeve were sitting on the floor, silent. Maeve was doing her best road runner impression around the run, obviously thinking that I'd come down to let them out. I sleepily muttered a 'shush!' then went back to bed.
At a more respectable hour, when I was a lot more with it, I went out to open the run. That's when I noticed that the side gate was unlocked, and open. This was my over sight, as the kids were playing out and I was too lazy to keep opening the front door to them. Coupled with having an old friend stay over with a bottle of wine, I completely forgot to secure the side gate. Looking back into the run, I suddenly realised that there were quite a lot of feathers blowing about, including a beautiful flight feather which could only have come from Maude.
With a sudden feeling of dread, I opened the coop to do a head count. All girls were present and correct, and I could see no obvious damage to Maude. I suspect that either a cat, or a fox, wandered into the garden courtesy of the side gate early this morning, and that the commotion was an alarm call. In her panic, Maude has bashed herself about and torn out a good few feathers. That'll teach me to get too complacent.
On a happier note, Belinda has been granted an early release and has gotten over her broodiness. Mini will be occupying her cell by the end of today.
One problem with this gorgeous weather and free ranging chooks are the flies. I poo pick daily from the lawn and run, but the copious droppings in the flower beds are a little harder to access. There are now a cloud of vile blue bottles buzzing around the shrubbery. This is an untenable situation.
A solution must be found.
Monday, 25 May 2009
Belinda Is Doing Time
Lindy has now been determinedly broody for 7 weeks. Apart from the fact that it's annoying, because she doesn't lay any eggs, it's also not good for her. She has lost a considerable amount of weight, and her feathers have become dull and scruffy. Belinda needs to come out of her hormonal craziness, and soon. Hence why she is currently pacing like a mad chicken inside a wire cage, constructed by the ever tolerant husband.
There are many reasons why Belinda is unhappy with this arrangement. For starters, there is no cosy nest box, just a wire floor so that the wind can cool her under carriage. There is also no shelter of any kind, so no comfy place to build a nest. There is food and water, but nothing to perch on. She can sit and she can pace, but she can do neither in chicken comfort. Plus, the others seem to take great delight on sitting on the top of her prison, or stretching out next to it in a manner which suggests mocking the poor little hen.
Hopefully, Lindy's stay in the clink will be reasonably brief. Within three days, she should get so uncomfortable and fed up that she'll go off the idea of nest sitting altogether and rejoin the flock.
And once the cell is free, Mini will be paying it a visit.
There are many reasons why Belinda is unhappy with this arrangement. For starters, there is no cosy nest box, just a wire floor so that the wind can cool her under carriage. There is also no shelter of any kind, so no comfy place to build a nest. There is food and water, but nothing to perch on. She can sit and she can pace, but she can do neither in chicken comfort. Plus, the others seem to take great delight on sitting on the top of her prison, or stretching out next to it in a manner which suggests mocking the poor little hen.
Hopefully, Lindy's stay in the clink will be reasonably brief. Within three days, she should get so uncomfortable and fed up that she'll go off the idea of nest sitting altogether and rejoin the flock.
And once the cell is free, Mini will be paying it a visit.
Friday, 15 May 2009
Mystery Solved
I wish to report a theft. Someone has stolen Mini. She has been replaced with an evil doppelganger. I am no longer greeted by my friendly little splash hen when I go out to the coop. She doesn't sit with her head to one side making that distinctive 'Brum' (kids tv programme) noise or try to sit on my shoulder when I hang out the washing. No, this new evil doppelganger does not want to be my friend.
Instead, she sits in the never-used nestbox, bum up in the air and head pulled right in to her body. If I lift the lid to check on Belinda, the Other Mini shrieks at me and raises all her feathers in a display of chicken aggression. This banshee-chicken won't lay any eggs, but will steal anyone else's. In fact, this Mini has even impressed Belinda with her hormonal insanity.
Judging by the fact that Belinda has now been broody for over a month, I suspect that my lovely friendly Mini will be on an extended holiday, perhaps showing her face again at some time in July. Yep, Mini has caught broody.
Thank gawd she isn't ill again!
Instead, she sits in the never-used nestbox, bum up in the air and head pulled right in to her body. If I lift the lid to check on Belinda, the Other Mini shrieks at me and raises all her feathers in a display of chicken aggression. This banshee-chicken won't lay any eggs, but will steal anyone else's. In fact, this Mini has even impressed Belinda with her hormonal insanity.
Judging by the fact that Belinda has now been broody for over a month, I suspect that my lovely friendly Mini will be on an extended holiday, perhaps showing her face again at some time in July. Yep, Mini has caught broody.
Thank gawd she isn't ill again!
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
The Mystery Of Mini
While out pottering yesterday, I spotted Mini sat under the lilac bush. She was pale, hunched up and her eyes were closed. Uh oh. Rummaging in the undergrowth, I pulled her out and had a look at her. No obvious sign of parasites, good plump breast and no respiratory issues. Hmmm. I plonked her back on the ground, and she slowly lumbered back into the border for a little rest.
I have to admit, my heart sank. Mini has never been a particularly healthy chicken, and in the six months I've had her she's been to the vet three times. Before panicking and rushing her back to said vet, I decided to see how she went. I spent the rest of the day checking on her and fretting.
This morning, the ever tolerant husband opened the coop and let them out for their breakfast. Mini dived into the pellets, but with slightly less than her usual gusto. Again, I gave her the once over and could find nothing wrong. Hmmm.
Today was one of those rare occasions when I was actually quite busy this morning, so I didn't check on Min again until lunchtime. Stepping out of the back door, I spotted three greedy hens scoffing my geraniums (thanks girls). I assumed that the others were in the coop, so went to investigate. I found Lindy pancaked in the nest box with Maude wedged in beside her, grumbling away at the lack of privacy and floor space. Interestingly, I also found Min.
Mini was sat in the middle of the coop floor, on the droppings tray. When I put my hand in to stroke her, she shrieked at me and went for my fingers. Her comb seems to have shrunk back a bit, and she has a glint in her eye I don't much care for. Now, Mini is either poorly, or broodiness is coming over her.
Watch this space.
I have to admit, my heart sank. Mini has never been a particularly healthy chicken, and in the six months I've had her she's been to the vet three times. Before panicking and rushing her back to said vet, I decided to see how she went. I spent the rest of the day checking on her and fretting.
This morning, the ever tolerant husband opened the coop and let them out for their breakfast. Mini dived into the pellets, but with slightly less than her usual gusto. Again, I gave her the once over and could find nothing wrong. Hmmm.
Today was one of those rare occasions when I was actually quite busy this morning, so I didn't check on Min again until lunchtime. Stepping out of the back door, I spotted three greedy hens scoffing my geraniums (thanks girls). I assumed that the others were in the coop, so went to investigate. I found Lindy pancaked in the nest box with Maude wedged in beside her, grumbling away at the lack of privacy and floor space. Interestingly, I also found Min.
Mini was sat in the middle of the coop floor, on the droppings tray. When I put my hand in to stroke her, she shrieked at me and went for my fingers. Her comb seems to have shrunk back a bit, and she has a glint in her eye I don't much care for. Now, Mini is either poorly, or broodiness is coming over her.
Watch this space.
Monday, 11 May 2009
Drastic Measures
Belinda is refusing to leave her broody state. Despite me shutting her out of the nestbox and dumping her on the grass repeatedly, she's not giving up. When the nest box is unavailable, she grumbles and complains before making herself a nest under the coop. Or sits on top of it, glaring at me in defiance. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
From her pancake state on top of the coop, she observed me rummaging about the garage in search of a bucket. She gave me the evil chicken eye as I took said bucket to the outside tap and began to fill it. Suspecting that no good could come of this, she started yelling her head off. Undeterred, I grasped her firmly and advanced on the bucket. Cocking her head to one side, she eye balled me in a manner which suggested 'don't even think about it, mate'. Taking a deep breath, I plunged the grumpy hen bum first into the frigid water.
At first, I think she was too shocked to react. She froze, beak open, as the cold water soaked into her drawers. As the cold reached her skin, she shrieked and set about trying to peck me to death. I held her still for a count of ten, then put her on the decking. She took off like a rocket, head down and bum up, running in that funny waddling manner that pekins have. All the while, she shrieked her displeasure. The other girls stopped eating/dustbathing/pooing to watch the soggy Belinda run laps around the garden. I felt hideously guilty, but dunking in cold water can provide the shock that the broody hen needs to snap her out of her futile state.
Ten minutes later, she was scratching about the garden, while Doris inspected her soggy knickers and clucked sympathetically. I actually thought it might have worked. Suddenly, she clocked me watching her from the kitchen window. After observing me for a few seconds, she very deliberately waddled back to the coop, jumped up on top of it, and went pancake.
Cow.
From her pancake state on top of the coop, she observed me rummaging about the garage in search of a bucket. She gave me the evil chicken eye as I took said bucket to the outside tap and began to fill it. Suspecting that no good could come of this, she started yelling her head off. Undeterred, I grasped her firmly and advanced on the bucket. Cocking her head to one side, she eye balled me in a manner which suggested 'don't even think about it, mate'. Taking a deep breath, I plunged the grumpy hen bum first into the frigid water.
At first, I think she was too shocked to react. She froze, beak open, as the cold water soaked into her drawers. As the cold reached her skin, she shrieked and set about trying to peck me to death. I held her still for a count of ten, then put her on the decking. She took off like a rocket, head down and bum up, running in that funny waddling manner that pekins have. All the while, she shrieked her displeasure. The other girls stopped eating/dustbathing/pooing to watch the soggy Belinda run laps around the garden. I felt hideously guilty, but dunking in cold water can provide the shock that the broody hen needs to snap her out of her futile state.
Ten minutes later, she was scratching about the garden, while Doris inspected her soggy knickers and clucked sympathetically. I actually thought it might have worked. Suddenly, she clocked me watching her from the kitchen window. After observing me for a few seconds, she very deliberately waddled back to the coop, jumped up on top of it, and went pancake.
Cow.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
Eeeek!
Well, I've bitten the bullet. Maeve is currently shut into the run, and Maude, Mini and Belinda are in the nest box. The other two are munching around the flower beds. After initially panicking, Maeve has settled down to scratch around the easibed in the run. I'm just waiting for the fireworks once one of the others comes down the ramp.....
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Back Again
We spent the bank holiday weekend in Dublin, visiting the ever tolerant husbands family and generally jollying about the place enjoying ourselves. Despite the youngest sons attempts to smuggle Belinda into the back of the car, we had to leave the girls behind and our lovely animal loving neighbour took charge.
The afternoon before departure, said neighbour popped around to receive her instructions. I seriously doubt that even a neurotic first time mother leaving her tiny babe for the first time would have been so precise and detailed. I wittered on for some considerable minutes about food preferences, social dynamics and the fact that Belinda was doing her best cow pat impression in the nestbox. Realising that my audience was beginning to glaze over, I cut to the chase.
On the morning of departure, I spent a frantic twenty minutes sorting out food, water and checking that the gate was locked and bolted. Then checking again. Then once more for luck. At this point the ever tolerant husband frog marched me to the car, determined that we would not miss our ferry because of his obsessive compulsive wife.
A lovely time was had by all, despite the youngest sons assertions on day one that he wanted to go home right away because he missed his chickens. While secretly sharing his sentiment, I jollied him along and he contented himself with drawing endless portraits of his beloved Lindy.
On arriving home, the first port of call was the coop. With relief, I saw Mabel, Maude, Mini and Doris clamouring at the door, bokking their little hearts out. Lifting the nest box lid, we found Lindy hopelessly trying to incubate some eggs. Maeve leaped from the greenhouse like a rocket and ran around our feet in joyful circles.
I sneakily fed them all some cherry cake, just to celebrate our home coming.
The afternoon before departure, said neighbour popped around to receive her instructions. I seriously doubt that even a neurotic first time mother leaving her tiny babe for the first time would have been so precise and detailed. I wittered on for some considerable minutes about food preferences, social dynamics and the fact that Belinda was doing her best cow pat impression in the nestbox. Realising that my audience was beginning to glaze over, I cut to the chase.
On the morning of departure, I spent a frantic twenty minutes sorting out food, water and checking that the gate was locked and bolted. Then checking again. Then once more for luck. At this point the ever tolerant husband frog marched me to the car, determined that we would not miss our ferry because of his obsessive compulsive wife.
A lovely time was had by all, despite the youngest sons assertions on day one that he wanted to go home right away because he missed his chickens. While secretly sharing his sentiment, I jollied him along and he contented himself with drawing endless portraits of his beloved Lindy.
On arriving home, the first port of call was the coop. With relief, I saw Mabel, Maude, Mini and Doris clamouring at the door, bokking their little hearts out. Lifting the nest box lid, we found Lindy hopelessly trying to incubate some eggs. Maeve leaped from the greenhouse like a rocket and ran around our feet in joyful circles.
I sneakily fed them all some cherry cake, just to celebrate our home coming.
Monday, 20 April 2009
The Whole Point
Mabel and Maude show off their fluffy knickers.
Maeve munches a spud while Mini looks on enviously.Today, while I sat on the bench in the spring sunshine, hens contentedly scoffing grass at my feet, I realised just how happy keeping hens makes me. As they mooched about, nibbling vegetation and occasionally murdering snails, I realised that my garden feels so much more alive for having the little monsters vandalising their way through it. It was an idyllic hour, with the sun warm on my face and the kids back at school. Even Belinda made an appearance of her own free will, and she didn't try to peck anyone to death. This is a completely self indulgent entry, and there is nothing more to say except, if you haven't already got some, get some hens. They really are rather fab.
Sunday, 19 April 2009
Poor Mini
I noticed yesterday that Mini had odd little scabs on the points of her comb. After a thorough inspection, I came to two possible conclusions. Mini either had fowl pox, a non lethal but possibly scarring illness, or one of the other hens was duffing her up. After a brief trip out today, Mini's comb had signs of fresh blood. One of the other girls had decided to really give Mini a hard time. The nasty wench.
I don't know who it is, as when they're outside free ranging there is no sign of nastiness. I suspect that the attacks are happening when Mini is cornered in the coop. If Belinda wasn't welded to the nest, she'd be my number one suspect. As it is, I can't pin down the culprit.
It could be Mabel. However, as top hen she's never really resorted to bashing up her subjects, preferring to chase them away from the treats if they get a bit uppity, and occasionally delivering a deliberate disciplinary peck. Sustained attacks aren't really her thing. She'd much rather eat a lot and poo copiously than get too physical.
So, maybe it's Maude. Maude has always been more involved in the chastisement of the younger girls, but again I don't see this level of viciousness being in her nature. Maude is essentially Mabel's hench-chicken, carrying out diabolical deeds under advisement from Don Mabel.
Doris is definitely a contender. As a lower hen in the pecking order, it makes sense that she'd want to keep Mini in her place. Being as though her best pal Lindy has gone all hormonal and psychotic, she might well turn to bullying as a way of keeping her status.
It's not Maeve. Maeve couldn't even reach the top of Mini's head, so she's in the clear.
Now I have to find a way of disguising the blood. Chickens seem to go crazy at the sight of it, and generally once blood has been shed they all become a bit mental. Blood lust in chickens is particularly unpleasant, and when the girls are shut into the coop at night Mini would have nowhere to hide. So now I need something that tastes foul and covers the colour. You can buy anti peck sprays, but this being a sunday afternoon my chances of finding anywhere open are slimmer than slim. For tonight, Mini will be wearing granny smelling talcum powder on her head. Yes, she'll look ridiculous, and smell like old people, but hopefully no one will eat her from the comb down.
I don't know who it is, as when they're outside free ranging there is no sign of nastiness. I suspect that the attacks are happening when Mini is cornered in the coop. If Belinda wasn't welded to the nest, she'd be my number one suspect. As it is, I can't pin down the culprit.
It could be Mabel. However, as top hen she's never really resorted to bashing up her subjects, preferring to chase them away from the treats if they get a bit uppity, and occasionally delivering a deliberate disciplinary peck. Sustained attacks aren't really her thing. She'd much rather eat a lot and poo copiously than get too physical.
So, maybe it's Maude. Maude has always been more involved in the chastisement of the younger girls, but again I don't see this level of viciousness being in her nature. Maude is essentially Mabel's hench-chicken, carrying out diabolical deeds under advisement from Don Mabel.
Doris is definitely a contender. As a lower hen in the pecking order, it makes sense that she'd want to keep Mini in her place. Being as though her best pal Lindy has gone all hormonal and psychotic, she might well turn to bullying as a way of keeping her status.
It's not Maeve. Maeve couldn't even reach the top of Mini's head, so she's in the clear.
Now I have to find a way of disguising the blood. Chickens seem to go crazy at the sight of it, and generally once blood has been shed they all become a bit mental. Blood lust in chickens is particularly unpleasant, and when the girls are shut into the coop at night Mini would have nowhere to hide. So now I need something that tastes foul and covers the colour. You can buy anti peck sprays, but this being a sunday afternoon my chances of finding anywhere open are slimmer than slim. For tonight, Mini will be wearing granny smelling talcum powder on her head. Yes, she'll look ridiculous, and smell like old people, but hopefully no one will eat her from the comb down.
Friday, 17 April 2009
Belinda Wreaks Vengeance
A broody Belind refuses to give up the nest for Maude and Doris.Right, so the ebay eggs are on hold until we get back from our travels (yay!). Therefore, a broody Belinda will not get her chance to hatch her first clutch, which means we're still trying to persuade her that there is more to life than sitting in the dark cooing to yourself.
After what seems like weeks of rain, the sun came out today. It was too good an opportunity to miss, so I stripped the coop down to give it a good scrub and disinfect. This always unsettles the hens, who understandably take exception to someone taking their home to bits, making it smell like flowers and disposing of their favourite chickenny smells. Doris was her usual vocal self. The entire neighbourhood was treated to the gobby madam ranting at the cheek.
Belinda sat on the grass where I'd plonked her, and glared at me. She issued a low growl whenever any of the other hens ventured too close, which earned her a 'Oi! Remember who you're growling at!' type peck on the head from top hen Mabel. It was quite disconcerting to feel Belinda's evil eye boring into my back while I crawled about in the run scraping poo (yes, my life really is this glamorous!). After about twenty minutes, she stood up, shook herself, and sauntered off down towards the greenhouse. Pleased that she'd given up her vigil, I carried on battling with easibed and wood shavings.
As I began reassembling the Convent, I heard an odd noise. The other girls had also heard it, and were stood with their heads cocked to one side, listening. Thump. Hmmm. I counted four big girls, and one little Maeve dotted about the human garden (so much for the fencing). Thump. It sounded rather a lot like earth hitting glass. Odd. Thump. After extracting myself from the hen run, I walked up the garden, looking for the missing Belinda. Thump.
The sound I had heard was indeed earth hitting glass. In fact, attached to the earth hitting the glass were some young tomato seedlings. Belinda was systematically pulling seedlings from a tray on my greenhouse staging, and launching them against the lower panes. She froze, seedling in beak, when she saw me stood in the doorway. Human and chicken eyeballed each other for several seconds, before the stroppy hen spat out the current seedling and attempted to move on to my sunflowers. Grasping her firmly with both hands, I removed the chav chicken and frog marched her back to the chicken garden. The hormonal vandal let out a blood curdling shriek which set all the others off bokking and running around in a panic. Plonking her none too delicately back in the Convent's grounds, I gave her a stern look. Regally, she sashayed back up the ramp into the coop, pausing only to throw me a look of disdain before disappearing into the darkness.
I never knew that chickens were capable of such vindictiveness.
After what seems like weeks of rain, the sun came out today. It was too good an opportunity to miss, so I stripped the coop down to give it a good scrub and disinfect. This always unsettles the hens, who understandably take exception to someone taking their home to bits, making it smell like flowers and disposing of their favourite chickenny smells. Doris was her usual vocal self. The entire neighbourhood was treated to the gobby madam ranting at the cheek.
Belinda sat on the grass where I'd plonked her, and glared at me. She issued a low growl whenever any of the other hens ventured too close, which earned her a 'Oi! Remember who you're growling at!' type peck on the head from top hen Mabel. It was quite disconcerting to feel Belinda's evil eye boring into my back while I crawled about in the run scraping poo (yes, my life really is this glamorous!). After about twenty minutes, she stood up, shook herself, and sauntered off down towards the greenhouse. Pleased that she'd given up her vigil, I carried on battling with easibed and wood shavings.
As I began reassembling the Convent, I heard an odd noise. The other girls had also heard it, and were stood with their heads cocked to one side, listening. Thump. Hmmm. I counted four big girls, and one little Maeve dotted about the human garden (so much for the fencing). Thump. It sounded rather a lot like earth hitting glass. Odd. Thump. After extracting myself from the hen run, I walked up the garden, looking for the missing Belinda. Thump.
The sound I had heard was indeed earth hitting glass. In fact, attached to the earth hitting the glass were some young tomato seedlings. Belinda was systematically pulling seedlings from a tray on my greenhouse staging, and launching them against the lower panes. She froze, seedling in beak, when she saw me stood in the doorway. Human and chicken eyeballed each other for several seconds, before the stroppy hen spat out the current seedling and attempted to move on to my sunflowers. Grasping her firmly with both hands, I removed the chav chicken and frog marched her back to the chicken garden. The hormonal vandal let out a blood curdling shriek which set all the others off bokking and running around in a panic. Plonking her none too delicately back in the Convent's grounds, I gave her a stern look. Regally, she sashayed back up the ramp into the coop, pausing only to throw me a look of disdain before disappearing into the darkness.
I never knew that chickens were capable of such vindictiveness.
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Oops.
Er, I sort of won those ebay eggs. Oops. The ever tolerant husband took it quite well, considering, merely pointing out all the very good reasons why it's a bad idea. He was very convincing. Hence, I'm waiting to see if the seller will accept my deepest apologies and let me off the hook. Good news is, hubby is coming around to the idea of hatching a few chickadees to sell. I feel a project coming on.....
Belinda has still been plastered to the nest all day. She has had company, though. Doris has snuggled in beside her. It appears that broodiness is contagious. I have visions of going out there one morning to find a huge pile of grumpy hens all trying to hatch each other.
Belinda has still been plastered to the nest all day. She has had company, though. Doris has snuggled in beside her. It appears that broodiness is contagious. I have visions of going out there one morning to find a huge pile of grumpy hens all trying to hatch each other.
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
Accidently Hatching Eggs?
Belinda is still broody, and growling at any human or chicken that dares to disturb her. I keep lifting her despite her protestations, and plonking her on the lawn. She sits for a moment, muttering to herself about stupid humans, before shakily wandering around. Soon as my back is turned though, she hot foots it back to the nest. The others are getting pretty fed up with their favourite nest being constantly occupied, and have taken to giving her a well aimed peck as she shuffles past. Like a bunch of bitchy school girls, the others gather and mutter amongst themselves about Lindy. The pecking order appears to be shifting.
The problem with having a broody, is that it brings to mind hatching chicks. Once that idea has lodged in the chicken keepers brain, it is only a matter of time before you start trawling ebay. Therefore, it's quite understandable how I might have accidently placed a bid on some blue laced wyandotte bantam hatching eggs. Ahem. Now, I'm not totally deluded, so I made my bid ridiculously low, and there is another day to run on the auction. I can't possibly win.
If I do win, I suspect that the ever tolerant husband might get a good deal less tolerant. In fact, he might swear at me a good bit in gaellic before slamming a few doors. Can't say that I'd blame him. Despite my longing to have a bit of land, we actually have a very ordinary suburban garden. Therefore, by making the bid low, I'm hoping to hang on to the dream for a bit longer, while ultimately knowing that there will be no cute balls of fluff for Lindy to turn savage on. At least, not yet.
The problem with having a broody, is that it brings to mind hatching chicks. Once that idea has lodged in the chicken keepers brain, it is only a matter of time before you start trawling ebay. Therefore, it's quite understandable how I might have accidently placed a bid on some blue laced wyandotte bantam hatching eggs. Ahem. Now, I'm not totally deluded, so I made my bid ridiculously low, and there is another day to run on the auction. I can't possibly win.
If I do win, I suspect that the ever tolerant husband might get a good deal less tolerant. In fact, he might swear at me a good bit in gaellic before slamming a few doors. Can't say that I'd blame him. Despite my longing to have a bit of land, we actually have a very ordinary suburban garden. Therefore, by making the bid low, I'm hoping to hang on to the dream for a bit longer, while ultimately knowing that there will be no cute balls of fluff for Lindy to turn savage on. At least, not yet.
Monday, 13 April 2009
Leaving Chickens
For the bank holiday weekend, we decided to visit my family. We don't get to see each other that much, and I really miss them all, but leaving home also has consequences. When you have really spoiled hens, who are used to free ranging and being fussed over daily, it feels horribly cruel to leave them locked up for days.
I fretted and ummed and ahhed about asking the neighbour to pop in and keep an eye on them. However, as the ever tolerant husband pointed out, that would mean leaving the side gate unlocked and unbolted. Hmmm. So, it was a toss up between leaving them at the mercy of the two legged fox (the fabled chicken rustler), or just leaving them to it. Hubby finally bundled me out of the door after I checked the locks/drinker/feeder for the umpteenth time, and we headed down soth to visit the human members of the family.
We had a lovely time, and only stayed for one night. I didn't spend the whole time worrying about the girls, but a considerable amount of it. Hideous scenarios of chicken annhialation played on my mind. What if it got really hot, and Maeve would be slowly cooked in the greenhouse? What if Mini did her usual 'escape-from-Belinda' trick and managed to spill the water? Would I get home to a load of pathetically dehydrated birds, gasping their last? What if there was a monumental ruck which resulted in blood and feather loss? Would incarceration in the (reasonably sized) secure run lead them to go out of their tiny chicken minds? What if Belinda just stayed on the nest, refusing to eat or drink without my encouragement? Oh, the burden of responsibility!
Therefore, the first thing I did when we arrived home yesterday evening was to rush to the back door. I would have been even quicker, if the ever tolerant husband hadn't been in my way. He claims he was checking just to spare me the potential horror of what might await. I think he just missed them.
Of course, they shrieked their heads off to be let out the second they clapped eyes on us. They immediately set about cutting the grass. Belinda didn't come down the ramp with chicken glee, so I nervously approached the nest box. Taking a deep breath, I raised the lid. Belinda looked up at me, bright eyed and very puffed up. On lifting her out, I found six warm eggs in her nest, lovingly tended. Dumping her on the lawn, I removed her 'babies' and gave her some corn to make up for it. She ate with gusto, making me feel a whole lot better.
Maeve was particularly glad to see us. She ran around the garden like a loon, roadrunner stylee, cheeping like mad. Once she'd used up some energy, she toddled up to the back door where I was sitting on the step. She tilted her head to one side, gave me a stern look, and then jumped up on to my knee. After a bit of a fuss from me and the hubby, she got over excited and jumped onto my head. Chicken talons in your scalp is not the most pleasant of sensations. I strongly suspect that for Maeve, however, this was a gesture of chickenny affection closely associated with joy. Bless her.
I fretted and ummed and ahhed about asking the neighbour to pop in and keep an eye on them. However, as the ever tolerant husband pointed out, that would mean leaving the side gate unlocked and unbolted. Hmmm. So, it was a toss up between leaving them at the mercy of the two legged fox (the fabled chicken rustler), or just leaving them to it. Hubby finally bundled me out of the door after I checked the locks/drinker/feeder for the umpteenth time, and we headed down soth to visit the human members of the family.
We had a lovely time, and only stayed for one night. I didn't spend the whole time worrying about the girls, but a considerable amount of it. Hideous scenarios of chicken annhialation played on my mind. What if it got really hot, and Maeve would be slowly cooked in the greenhouse? What if Mini did her usual 'escape-from-Belinda' trick and managed to spill the water? Would I get home to a load of pathetically dehydrated birds, gasping their last? What if there was a monumental ruck which resulted in blood and feather loss? Would incarceration in the (reasonably sized) secure run lead them to go out of their tiny chicken minds? What if Belinda just stayed on the nest, refusing to eat or drink without my encouragement? Oh, the burden of responsibility!
Therefore, the first thing I did when we arrived home yesterday evening was to rush to the back door. I would have been even quicker, if the ever tolerant husband hadn't been in my way. He claims he was checking just to spare me the potential horror of what might await. I think he just missed them.
Of course, they shrieked their heads off to be let out the second they clapped eyes on us. They immediately set about cutting the grass. Belinda didn't come down the ramp with chicken glee, so I nervously approached the nest box. Taking a deep breath, I raised the lid. Belinda looked up at me, bright eyed and very puffed up. On lifting her out, I found six warm eggs in her nest, lovingly tended. Dumping her on the lawn, I removed her 'babies' and gave her some corn to make up for it. She ate with gusto, making me feel a whole lot better.
Maeve was particularly glad to see us. She ran around the garden like a loon, roadrunner stylee, cheeping like mad. Once she'd used up some energy, she toddled up to the back door where I was sitting on the step. She tilted her head to one side, gave me a stern look, and then jumped up on to my knee. After a bit of a fuss from me and the hubby, she got over excited and jumped onto my head. Chicken talons in your scalp is not the most pleasant of sensations. I strongly suspect that for Maeve, however, this was a gesture of chickenny affection closely associated with joy. Bless her.
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