The Great Escape

The Barrier has been in place for several weeks now. It has been pretty successful in keeping the marauding flock out of the flower bed, and I am now able to look out of the kitchen window and see some early tulips and daffodils being battered by the force 9 gales. Still, the colour is pleasing. This morning, however, I had a mystery on my hands.

A mere ten minutes after letting the girls out to free range, I spotted a soil fountain behind the rosemary bush. On closer inspection I found Maeve happily dust bathing. Carefully, I extracted her from the border and plonked her back amongst the flock on the lawn. She was most disgruntled, and I earned myself a swift peck on the heel for my insolence. I returned to the house, assuming that the determined ASBO Chicken had managed to scale the fence with a gale assisted flap.

A short while later, I discovered that Maeve was back in her favourite spot, and this time she had company. Hilda and Celia were busy attempting to dig up some late flowering bulbs. With a muttered 'bloody hens' I traipsed back out to remove them all. They didn't put up a fight and all just sat waiting to be transported. Which was odd. I mean, usually we have a bit of a flap at an eviction. But nope, they were all a picture of serene good naturedness. So naturally I was suspicious. I decided to watch them to see if I could find their access point.

After twenty minutes of watching the girls mooch about looking innocent, I decided to empty the dishwasher. This took approximately five minutes, during which time all seven pekins breached the barrier and trampled over the new poeny growth. At this point I thought darkly about wing clipping, or perhaps leg weights. It turns out, however, that I was completely on the wrong track. After turfing them all back on to the lawn, by chance I turned around just at the moment that Maude walked back through the barrier, like some cyborg, 'Terminator' chicken. Now chickens have many interesting properties, but the ability to pass through a fence via osmosis isn't one of them.

On closer inspection, I found that the netting had frayed. But it had frayed in a most interesting way. The hole was exactly at the spot that I have a heavy plant pot weighing down the fencing, in a bid to stop chook tunnelling. It is perfectly placed for a small, canny hen to jump up on to the plant pot, and then squeeze through the gap. And the gap is virtually undetectable unless you are actively looking for it (or see Maude going ghost). It's all just a bit too....convenient. I find myself contemplating just how long it would take a determined hen to saw through nylon strings with their beak. I find myself thinking of 'The Shawshank Redemption', and shuddering. Using some garden twine, I have resealed their point of entry.

Maeve watched me work with glittering, interested eyes.

Death And The Birth Of Ideas

Just as you think that spring is here to stay, it wanders off again leaving cold, wet greyness in its wake. Humph. When Purdy decided to leave this mortal coil she appears to have taken the sun with her. The birds and I stare at each other in dejected grumpiness. Even Maeve seems to have lost some of her vavavoom. She hasn't battered anyone in days.

In an effort to amuse themselves, the girls broke through my border protecting barrier while I was otherwise occupied. I caught them happily rampaging through clumps of spring bulbs and merrily digging around fresh shoots. They managed to nibble a considerable amount of foliage before they were firmly ejected. To be fair to them, Gladys and Maude managed to look at least slightly embarassed at being caught, and shuffled and muttered a bit. Not everyone has a conscience, though. Hilda continued dust bathing while I turfed her flock mates back on to the lawn and glared at me as if I was the one tresspassing. She shook herself all over my wellies in disgust before stalking back to the Palace to lay.

Betsy and Vera have settled in to their new premises well. They are gradually getting the hang of the ramp, although neither have so far ventured forth in to the washing-up bowl nest box. I'm hoping that Betsy will get the idea in the next few days and lay me an egg. At the moment it seems to be taking all of her concentration and brain power just to avoid falling down the ramp opening. Vera seems to have a better grasp of gravity at this stage, and can sometimes be heard issuing a warning bok-ARK as Betsy falls through the trap door.

Since losing Purdy, I confess to toying with the idea of hatching again. I still have my little incy in the garage which hatched the meeps last year. However, I find myself looking at more sophisticated incubators on ebay.  The idea that you pop your fertile eggs in one day, press 'go' and then come back 3 weeks later to chicks is very tempting. Don't worry, I know that it requires more thought. Last year I was very lucky to find all of my cockerel chicks good homes. I am well aware that that is not always the case, and boy chickens will always be a part of hatching.

The thing is, with the right incubator and a bit of research, I'd love to have a go at hatching serama....

How The Garden War Progresses

Well, to be honest, it's going ok. After the initial installation of the Barrier, Maude achieved vertical take off and landed straight on the ornamental curly grass. With a firm hand, I removed her and plonked her back down on the lawn side. There was much chattering about this development and disgusted strutting. However, so far, no one else has attempted to trespass. Hmmm.

Perhaps I've been looking in to the psyche's of my hens for too long, but I can't help feeling that they're just biding their time. They have taken to patrolling the Barrier while throwing surreptitious glances back towards the house. Something is probably, maybe, almost certainly up. Every time I look out of the window I expect to find eight feathery vandals tossing bulbs hither and thither with glee. It will almost be a relief when it happens at this stage. This compliance is unnervingly out of character.

Just to prove that they haven't gone completely soft, there was a concerted effort to murder one of the rose bushes yesterday. A team effort of digging around the base left it leaning in a most alarming manner. The guerrila gardeners watched with interest as I firmed it back down all the while swearing like Mutley. Perhaps they are running interference. Or trying out new torture techniques. Either way, my reaction probably means that it mill happen again. I am seriously considering making chicken guards from chicken wire to prevent the little madams from scratching up my favourite plants.

In other news, I have to make a decision about the serama by friday. I am still torn between really, really wanting them and being nervous of rocking the boat. I adore my pekins, and the silkie experiment did not end well. The ever tolerant husband just rollls his eyes when I prattle on about flock integration, and he was most ungentleman-like when I asked him if he thought the heat lamp could be threaded through to the Palace at 2am the other morning. To be fair, he migt have a point on that one.

We shall see.

At Her Majesty's Pleasure

We've established that my attempt at netting in the hens was rubbish. The idea was good though, so this weekend hubby and I were on a mission. A quick trip to the local DIY place later, the ever tolerant husband got on with building a proper barrier. Using short wooden stakes and some pvc netting, he managed to neatly cordon off the garden into two distinct sections; the convent and grounds, and the human garden. Brilliant.



I methodically sought out small fluffy chickens and popped them into their new area. At first, they didn't notice the new improved fence and assumed that I was just moving them around for fun. There were no complaints, just resigned clucking as I plonked them down in chicken prison. The peace didn't last long, however.



Maude was the first to notice that the new fence wasn't so easily breached as the 'cobwebs on sticks' attempt I'd made. She bokked to the others in a 'hang on, girls, I'm not liking this!' manner. Mabel waddled over, giving the netting an experimental peck. Finding the plastic unyielding, she took up a war cry. Within minutes, five pissed off hens were speedily trotting along the whole length of the barrier, looking for an out. Back and forth they went, looking very much like they should have had little tin cups in their beaks to clang along the bars of their new prison. Oh, the guilt.



Maeve was cheeping on the lawn, in the priviliged position of being allowed on the human side of the fence. This isn't favouratism, more that the others might eat her. This way she can get on with growing big enough to defend herself when the inevitable integration duff up occurs. Didn't stop her gloating, though.



Deciding that my presence was probably agitating them more, I took the cowards way out and went to have a calming cup of tea. When I next looked out, Mabel was by the back door, a glint of triumph in her eye. The absolutely tiny gap between fence and coop had proved big enough for her to squeeze her matronly bum through. We know that this was what she must have done, because we soon saw Doris do the same thing. Hubby looked at this, and then blocked the gap with a tall plant pot.



As we stood there, discussing the flaws in our security system, Maude took a running, flapping jump and joined her best pal on the other side of the fence. A problem that is not so easy to fix. However, only Maude and Mini seem capable of flying to any height, so we're hopeful that they'll get bored of being away from their chicken chums. Maybe.



Their complete disgust that the barrier was still in place when I let them out this morning was audible. Today, it was Mini that popped over for a visit. It's really more of an open prison.