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.
Showing posts with label Margot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Margot. Show all posts
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
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.
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.
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 £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 £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.
Friday, 30 April 2010
Noise And Palaces
Since my last post, I have been contacted by my chook palace provider to give me a delivery date of next wednesday. Woo hoo! The patio was completed last week, and I am eager now to get the girls moved in to their new residence (not least of all because my lawn is suffering. Badly). They have christened the patio copiously, and I am frantically scooping the poop before the ever tolerant husband has an aneurism.
Last night, I forgot to shut the pop hole. I paid dearly for this oversight. Margot let rip at 6am, and I blearily found my way in to my dressing gown before blundering down the stairs. Seeing that all was well, I'm ashamed to say that I rather lost my temper with the gobby alarm-hen. Taking two slices of bread with me, I stalked across the lawn hissing at her to shut up. Naturally, she ignored me. In fact, Doris took this as encouragement to join in. I bad temperedly lobbed the bread at the two of them. Margot got it square in the face, shrieked indignantly at me, then began scoffing. I missed Doris, who watched me thoughtfully.
This was bad chicken-keeping practice. Rewarding bad behaviour is the road to ruin. Tonight, they will once again be locked in. It has left me with a rather thorny problem, though. We are planning on a holiday in the summer, and my chicken keeper pal will be looking after the girls. Normally, I would leave the pop hole open, but I can't risk the horrendous din. It would be deeply unfair on my lovely neighbours.
A solution must be found.
Last night, I forgot to shut the pop hole. I paid dearly for this oversight. Margot let rip at 6am, and I blearily found my way in to my dressing gown before blundering down the stairs. Seeing that all was well, I'm ashamed to say that I rather lost my temper with the gobby alarm-hen. Taking two slices of bread with me, I stalked across the lawn hissing at her to shut up. Naturally, she ignored me. In fact, Doris took this as encouragement to join in. I bad temperedly lobbed the bread at the two of them. Margot got it square in the face, shrieked indignantly at me, then began scoffing. I missed Doris, who watched me thoughtfully.
This was bad chicken-keeping practice. Rewarding bad behaviour is the road to ruin. Tonight, they will once again be locked in. It has left me with a rather thorny problem, though. We are planning on a holiday in the summer, and my chicken keeper pal will be looking after the girls. Normally, I would leave the pop hole open, but I can't risk the horrendous din. It would be deeply unfair on my lovely neighbours.
A solution must be found.
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, 15 April 2010
The Importance Of Human Training
Next week, we are finally having a patio laid. This means that from this weekend onwards, for several days, the girls will be confined to the Convent again. Mindful of just how spoilt they are, and used to roaming the garden at will during daylight, I am trying to get them used to their limited free ranging in the future. They are not impressed with this change in regime.
This morning, I awoke to Margot shrieking her head off. Determined to brazen it out, I ignored her weird honking calls while at the same time hoping fervently that none of the neighbours would end up on my doorstep with a meat cleaver. After ten minutes or so, she fell silent. Crouching beneath the upstairs bedroom window, I cautiously peered above the window sill. All six hens were crowded against the mesh, peering back at me (I really must find a different vantage point. They expect me now. Also, I should probably look at my 'sneaking up on windows to peer at chickens' behaviour. I'm reasonably sure that if anyone else saw me doing it, they'd have me committed) We stared at each other for a moment, and then as one they all took up the 'let us out!' call. Sheepishly sloping off, I listened to the racket continue for a few minutes before silence once again fell. I imagine them having an impromptu meeting at this point, to work out which of them was most annoying. Margot won hands down, having taken this prestigious place in the pecking order from the gobby Doris. What Margot lacks in shrillness (always Doris's forte), she more than makes up for in sheer volume.
So, Margot took up the war cry. She screamed for a few minutes, then fell silent (presumably to regroup) before starting again. After twenty minutes of this torturous racket, I snapped. She was in full song as I opened the back door, then immediately fell silent. With resignation, I trudged to the run and released the baying hordes. They muttered as they filed past me, no doubt congratulating themselves on a well fought campaign.
I am left with the uneasy feeling that I have been...trained.
This morning, I awoke to Margot shrieking her head off. Determined to brazen it out, I ignored her weird honking calls while at the same time hoping fervently that none of the neighbours would end up on my doorstep with a meat cleaver. After ten minutes or so, she fell silent. Crouching beneath the upstairs bedroom window, I cautiously peered above the window sill. All six hens were crowded against the mesh, peering back at me (I really must find a different vantage point. They expect me now. Also, I should probably look at my 'sneaking up on windows to peer at chickens' behaviour. I'm reasonably sure that if anyone else saw me doing it, they'd have me committed) We stared at each other for a moment, and then as one they all took up the 'let us out!' call. Sheepishly sloping off, I listened to the racket continue for a few minutes before silence once again fell. I imagine them having an impromptu meeting at this point, to work out which of them was most annoying. Margot won hands down, having taken this prestigious place in the pecking order from the gobby Doris. What Margot lacks in shrillness (always Doris's forte), she more than makes up for in sheer volume.
So, Margot took up the war cry. She screamed for a few minutes, then fell silent (presumably to regroup) before starting again. After twenty minutes of this torturous racket, I snapped. She was in full song as I opened the back door, then immediately fell silent. With resignation, I trudged to the run and released the baying hordes. They muttered as they filed past me, no doubt congratulating themselves on a well fought campaign.
I am left with the uneasy feeling that I have been...trained.
Monday, 12 April 2010
Desperate For A Bath
We spent a long weekend in Ireland visiting the ever tolerant husbands family and only returned yesterday. A lovely time was had by all, butIi must confess to firing off the odd sneaky text to my chicken sitting friend. Leaving the girls for more than a night makes me extremely anxious. Not because I think they miss me (Ha!), but because they are so incredibly spoiled. My ladies are used to getting up at first light, enjoying a leisurely breakfast and then being given free reign over the grounds. When I travel, the girls are confined to the Convent and run permanently for their own safety. They do not take kindly to this revoking of their free ranging rights.
My similairly chicken obsessed friend was looking after them, so I knew that they were in safe hands. We departed early on Thursday morning, but I still managed to let the girls have an hour pootling about the garden. Using corn as a lure, I secured them back in to the run just before we left. They realised their mistake just as the bolt shot home, and much offended chuntering ensued. I felt six beady eyes boring in to my back as I returned to the house.
The following morning, my chicken sitter texted to tell me that the girls were being rather, erm, raucous. She could hear them squawking before she reached the end of the road. Oh dear. Still, she collected four eggs from the nest box, so they weren't that unhappy.
The following day, I found a missed call message on my phone. In a panic, I called my friend, imagining all kinds of fox related horrors. Thankfully, she was just concerned that one of the silkies wouldn't leave the nest box and was growling ( Said friend has hybrids, so has no current experience of the hormonal psychosis that is a broody hen. Margot was happy to educate her). With relief, I told her not to worry, and to just mind her fingers when she rummaged under the daft bird for eggs.
Yesterday, we arrived home at three thirty in the afternoon. I immediately went out to see my girls, and they excitedly clamoured at the run door. I smiled to myself, thinking that they were delighted to see me, and cooed at them as I released them from their prison.
As a homogeneous, feathery mass, they bowled past me and leapt in to the dustbath. Hens were crammed in every which way, and a confusing jumble of beaks, feet and feathers was all that I could make out as the dirt started flying. I allowed myself a wry smile as I unlocked the garage and watched the chooklets emerge, blinking, in to the sunlight.
It must be terrible when the staff take a holiday.
My similairly chicken obsessed friend was looking after them, so I knew that they were in safe hands. We departed early on Thursday morning, but I still managed to let the girls have an hour pootling about the garden. Using corn as a lure, I secured them back in to the run just before we left. They realised their mistake just as the bolt shot home, and much offended chuntering ensued. I felt six beady eyes boring in to my back as I returned to the house.
The following morning, my chicken sitter texted to tell me that the girls were being rather, erm, raucous. She could hear them squawking before she reached the end of the road. Oh dear. Still, she collected four eggs from the nest box, so they weren't that unhappy.
The following day, I found a missed call message on my phone. In a panic, I called my friend, imagining all kinds of fox related horrors. Thankfully, she was just concerned that one of the silkies wouldn't leave the nest box and was growling ( Said friend has hybrids, so has no current experience of the hormonal psychosis that is a broody hen. Margot was happy to educate her). With relief, I told her not to worry, and to just mind her fingers when she rummaged under the daft bird for eggs.
Yesterday, we arrived home at three thirty in the afternoon. I immediately went out to see my girls, and they excitedly clamoured at the run door. I smiled to myself, thinking that they were delighted to see me, and cooed at them as I released them from their prison.
As a homogeneous, feathery mass, they bowled past me and leapt in to the dustbath. Hens were crammed in every which way, and a confusing jumble of beaks, feet and feathers was all that I could make out as the dirt started flying. I allowed myself a wry smile as I unlocked the garage and watched the chooklets emerge, blinking, in to the sunlight.
It must be terrible when the staff take a holiday.
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, 8 March 2010
Sunshine, Introductions And Moving House
If I have any devoted followers, it may have been noticed that its been over a week since my last post. The reason? House stress. We very nearly sold our house, but then didn't. We very nearly bought a house, but then didn't. So. Once again, I am doing my best to ignore the whole circus unless someone brings me news. Easier said than done, to be honest. However, my ladies require my attention, which is a very Good Thing.
Introductions are going reasonably well. Celia and Purdy will now happily leave the garage under their own steam. They tend to stick close together, and are mostly found loitering on the decking. The other girls mostly ignore them, with only the occassional chase or peck. Margot is the most determined baby chaser, which just confirms to me that with the loss of Mini, Margot has taken the position of bottom hen. Her status will be short lived though, once the partridge girls join the main flock.
The sun has made a much welcomed appearance here, and despite the cold it lifts everyones spirits. Maeve is in raptures, and lays on the decking for hours sun bathing. She only moves to change which wing to spread out to catch some rays. All of the girls like the sun, but Maeve is a full on sun worshipper. Unfortunately, her favourite spot is behind the back door. I end up gently shoving her across the decking if I need to get outside.
I don't blame her for making the most of it.
Introductions are going reasonably well. Celia and Purdy will now happily leave the garage under their own steam. They tend to stick close together, and are mostly found loitering on the decking. The other girls mostly ignore them, with only the occassional chase or peck. Margot is the most determined baby chaser, which just confirms to me that with the loss of Mini, Margot has taken the position of bottom hen. Her status will be short lived though, once the partridge girls join the main flock.
The sun has made a much welcomed appearance here, and despite the cold it lifts everyones spirits. Maeve is in raptures, and lays on the decking for hours sun bathing. She only moves to change which wing to spread out to catch some rays. All of the girls like the sun, but Maeve is a full on sun worshipper. Unfortunately, her favourite spot is behind the back door. I end up gently shoving her across the decking if I need to get outside.
I don't blame her for making the most of it.
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.
Thursday, 1 October 2009
Big Girl Voices
The moult continues. Maude now resembles Billy Idol, with a funky short spikey 'do. Mabel is only half the chicken she used to be, and seems to be struggling with her top hen status. Maeve has moved up on to the perch next to the Millefleurs, staking her claim as third in line for the top job. The flock is unsettled.
Our newest members have settled in to the Convent well. Occasionally, Maeve attempts to rip out a beakful of fluff from their ostrich-like necks, but on the whole they are unmolested. There still appears to be some confusion amongst the pekins as to what exactly Kiki and Margot are. For their part, the silkies do their best to stay out of pecking range, and try and blend in with the shrubbery. In this way, no blood has been spilled.
Today was the first day, however, where the babies found their voices. Somewhere between a pekin and a congested duck, is my expert opinion. The pekins stopped foraging and watched the two fluffy pullets trying out their big girl noise. After a bit of bokking/honking, the silkies fell silent and watched the pekins. The ladies had a brief conference, and then rolled around in the flower border.
I assume that means Margot and Kiki were not declaring war on pekin kind.
Our newest members have settled in to the Convent well. Occasionally, Maeve attempts to rip out a beakful of fluff from their ostrich-like necks, but on the whole they are unmolested. There still appears to be some confusion amongst the pekins as to what exactly Kiki and Margot are. For their part, the silkies do their best to stay out of pecking range, and try and blend in with the shrubbery. In this way, no blood has been spilled.
Today was the first day, however, where the babies found their voices. Somewhere between a pekin and a congested duck, is my expert opinion. The pekins stopped foraging and watched the two fluffy pullets trying out their big girl noise. After a bit of bokking/honking, the silkies fell silent and watched the pekins. The ladies had a brief conference, and then rolled around in the flower border.
I assume that means Margot and Kiki were not declaring war on pekin kind.
Monday, 14 September 2009
Two Tribes
Now that the decision to sell the house has been made, it has forced me to speed up the integration process. I couldn't quite get my head around showing prospective buyers the super sparkly house, and then letting them peek into the garage only to be confronted by two demented bog brushes and acres of poo. So, two nights ago I bit the bullet and the silkies moved in to the Convent.
It went as well as can be expected. Mabel was pancaked in the nest box, so Maeve had free reign. She chased them and kung fu kicked them a few times. The other girls dived out of the way and generally muttered about the impetuousness of youth. The silkies have long legs compared to a pekin, so speed is their advantage. Eventually, everyone got bored and went to bed. Kiki and Margot waited until almost full dark before tentatively climbing the ramp to the sleeping quarters. After a little indecision, they slunk inside and huddled up in a nest box. I was quite smug about the whole thing.
My smugness didn't last, as at dawn I was up separating them. It wasn't that the chasing was particularly bad, but Doris had taken up a war cry which could wake the dead. Not the best way to keep the neighbours on side, Doris. Removing the silkies worked, and we all went wearily back to bed.
Yesterday, the new girls decided to spend their time hiding behind the greenhouse, making only the occasional foray to search out food and water. For the most part, the flock ignored them, only getting shirty if they approached any treats. Again, all perfectly normal and even promising. At dusk, my original ladies pootled off to bed. The silkies hung back, looking agitatedly for somewhere else to sleep. When they realised that there were no other options, they slunk into the Convent. I locked the door, feeling confident that all was well.
On checking the coop with a torch before bed, I found Kiki and Margot asleep under the sleeping area in the run. I unceremoniously grabbed them both and stuffed them into the coop, where they made the mistake of trying to bed down for the night on top of a grumpy Mabel. She gave them both a smart peck on the head, and much chastised they curled up in the other nest box. I half expected to be woken at dawn again, but helpfully Doris kept schtum.
We'll see how it goes tonight, after I remove the persistent Mabel from the equation.
It went as well as can be expected. Mabel was pancaked in the nest box, so Maeve had free reign. She chased them and kung fu kicked them a few times. The other girls dived out of the way and generally muttered about the impetuousness of youth. The silkies have long legs compared to a pekin, so speed is their advantage. Eventually, everyone got bored and went to bed. Kiki and Margot waited until almost full dark before tentatively climbing the ramp to the sleeping quarters. After a little indecision, they slunk inside and huddled up in a nest box. I was quite smug about the whole thing.
My smugness didn't last, as at dawn I was up separating them. It wasn't that the chasing was particularly bad, but Doris had taken up a war cry which could wake the dead. Not the best way to keep the neighbours on side, Doris. Removing the silkies worked, and we all went wearily back to bed.
Yesterday, the new girls decided to spend their time hiding behind the greenhouse, making only the occasional foray to search out food and water. For the most part, the flock ignored them, only getting shirty if they approached any treats. Again, all perfectly normal and even promising. At dusk, my original ladies pootled off to bed. The silkies hung back, looking agitatedly for somewhere else to sleep. When they realised that there were no other options, they slunk into the Convent. I locked the door, feeling confident that all was well.
On checking the coop with a torch before bed, I found Kiki and Margot asleep under the sleeping area in the run. I unceremoniously grabbed them both and stuffed them into the coop, where they made the mistake of trying to bed down for the night on top of a grumpy Mabel. She gave them both a smart peck on the head, and much chastised they curled up in the other nest box. I half expected to be woken at dawn again, but helpfully Doris kept schtum.
We'll see how it goes tonight, after I remove the persistent Mabel from the equation.
Monday, 17 August 2009
What the HELL is that!?!?
Yesterday, the ever tolerant husband trekked halfway across the midlands so that we could pick up two silkie bantam pullets. As it was also our wedding anniversary, I think he deserves special mention.
Since the early demise of Belinda, our youngest son has been a very sad little boy. When asked what would make him feel better, he made it perfectly clear that if resurrecting belinda was out of the question, it would have to be another hen. Preferably one that looked like a microphone. This description puzzled me for a bit, until the penny dropped. He wanted a silkie.
We arrived at the breeder's and were greeted with a shed full of silkie chicks. The problem with silkies, is that they like to keep their gender ambiguous. Being relatively slow to mature doesn't help, and many a poultry keeper has looked out at their eight month old hens one day and suddenly heard a wimpy cockadoodledoo. There can be no vocal manifestations of maleness in our small suburban garden.
The breeder handed us three chicks which he was certain were pullets. Our youngest instantly fell in love with a microphone headed blue which he has named Kiki Fluffy (he is six). The ever tolerant husband instantly proclaimed that this was a stripper name, so I elbowed him in the ribs, not wishing to have to explain the term 'stripper' in front of the breeder. I chose the other pullet, a partridge-ish coloured girl who just looks like a Margot. They definitely look as though they should be wearing grand Pat Butcher style earrings and clutching handbags to their matronly bosoms.
I have set up a separate pen for the newbies, next to the Convent's grounds. When we first got home, I put the silkies out in their hutch and let the girls out of the Convent. Mabel came over to the netting instantly, suspecting that something was afoot. Seeing nothing obvious, she lumbered off into the border to eat my marigolds. The others watched Mabel, saw her lose interest, and proceeded to do likewise.
It took Kiki and Margot a good forty minutes to feel brave. Kiki stuck her head out of the hutch first, eyed the ground (they had never been on grass), and then hid again. A few minutes later, after a brief conference with Margot, they both slowly emerged and set about scoffing the lawn.
They did all this in silence, so they'd been out a while before the girls clocked them. Mini edged closer to the netting, staring intently at the new comers. Mabel took matters into her own hands, and jumped straight in to the pen. She was swiftly evicted, much to her disgust. Slowly but surely, the girls encircled the silkie enclosure. They seemed unsure as to how they should react to this new development. Obviously, if I'd brought new chickens into the garden, there would need to be some duffing up. However, the girls seemed to decide, these ridiculous looking things were not chickens, so should probably be ignored.
The silkies hid behind the rose bush, and did their best to look like discarded feather dusters.
Since the early demise of Belinda, our youngest son has been a very sad little boy. When asked what would make him feel better, he made it perfectly clear that if resurrecting belinda was out of the question, it would have to be another hen. Preferably one that looked like a microphone. This description puzzled me for a bit, until the penny dropped. He wanted a silkie.
We arrived at the breeder's and were greeted with a shed full of silkie chicks. The problem with silkies, is that they like to keep their gender ambiguous. Being relatively slow to mature doesn't help, and many a poultry keeper has looked out at their eight month old hens one day and suddenly heard a wimpy cockadoodledoo. There can be no vocal manifestations of maleness in our small suburban garden.
The breeder handed us three chicks which he was certain were pullets. Our youngest instantly fell in love with a microphone headed blue which he has named Kiki Fluffy (he is six). The ever tolerant husband instantly proclaimed that this was a stripper name, so I elbowed him in the ribs, not wishing to have to explain the term 'stripper' in front of the breeder. I chose the other pullet, a partridge-ish coloured girl who just looks like a Margot. They definitely look as though they should be wearing grand Pat Butcher style earrings and clutching handbags to their matronly bosoms.
I have set up a separate pen for the newbies, next to the Convent's grounds. When we first got home, I put the silkies out in their hutch and let the girls out of the Convent. Mabel came over to the netting instantly, suspecting that something was afoot. Seeing nothing obvious, she lumbered off into the border to eat my marigolds. The others watched Mabel, saw her lose interest, and proceeded to do likewise.
It took Kiki and Margot a good forty minutes to feel brave. Kiki stuck her head out of the hutch first, eyed the ground (they had never been on grass), and then hid again. A few minutes later, after a brief conference with Margot, they both slowly emerged and set about scoffing the lawn.
They did all this in silence, so they'd been out a while before the girls clocked them. Mini edged closer to the netting, staring intently at the new comers. Mabel took matters into her own hands, and jumped straight in to the pen. She was swiftly evicted, much to her disgust. Slowly but surely, the girls encircled the silkie enclosure. They seemed unsure as to how they should react to this new development. Obviously, if I'd brought new chickens into the garden, there would need to be some duffing up. However, the girls seemed to decide, these ridiculous looking things were not chickens, so should probably be ignored.
The silkies hid behind the rose bush, and did their best to look like discarded feather dusters.
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