A glorious morning here in the midlands. For the first time this year, I was eager to pull on my wellies and get stuck in to the garden. The ravages of the winter were still apparent, but new promises of spring are cheerfully making their presence known. Now that the hens have been denied access to the border, bulbs are poking through the soil and buds are beginning to ripen on the rose bushes and shrubs. All in all, most satisfactory.
The chooks followed my progress as I pruned and weeded, and Mabel chattered away to me with her head on one side as if asking my opinion on something. Not being able to speak chicken, I think I rather disappointed her in not being able to help. As I worked, I left neat piles of clippings so that I could collect them later. Silly me. When I looked back I found that the girls had helpfully rearranged my piles all over the lawn, as they picked up various prunings and threw them around looking for bugs or tasty new growth. Chickens love to help with the gardening.
The serama tentatively explored the garden. Occassionally, Hilda or Gladys would chase them a bit before getting distracted and forgetting about them. I felt happy enough to leave them freeranging with the bigger girls and headed inside to fill the drinkers. As I gazed out of the kitchen window, contemplating crisps (as you do), I noticed that the flock had gone very tall and quiet. Uh oh. Dashing outside, I found the hunter cat stalking along the top of the fence, his predatory gaze fixed on the oblivious micro chickens. Waving the broom, I hissed at him and chased him away. Maeve watched me with interest, and a calculating expression across her chickenny chops. Merely minutes later, I lost sight of the tiny newbies and went searching. I found them by the side gate, and the hunter cat perched above them on the gate post. This might be a very real problem.
I have no wish to keep Betsy and Vera caged, and after all they need to do normal chicken things. So, I think the best solution will be to get some kind of movable enclosed run so that they can enjoy scratching, dustbathing, scoffing things etc without becoming some feline's latest toy. The stalking cat is the same one that Maeve saw off some months ago. However, a feisty pekin is a very different creature to a soft serama. Personally, I don't fancy their chances if it came down to a stand off.
After tidying away the pekins 'help', I sat on the back step with a cup of tea and surveyed my suburban idyll. The hens laid in shafts of sunlight, catching some rays. Even Betsy assumed the position, strangely with one leg pointing skywards. She looked a bit like she was auditioning for an exercise video. The gentle peace was shattered by a squeaky 'bok bok bok-ARK'. Human and chickens alike looked about, wondering if any of the neighbours ahd recently acquired chickens. Then Vera strutted around the corner in to view, throwing her head back and really going for it. I'm sure she meant to show us all who was boss, but frankly the noise was pathetic. A bit like she was bokking quietly in to a paper bag. If chickens could laugh, the others would have sniggered. As they can't, they just went back to their collective sun worship. Vera wound down with a vaguely embarassed air, and started preening.
Bless.
Showing posts with label cat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cat. Show all posts
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Thursday, 21 October 2010
She's Called ASBO Chicken For A Reason
Winter is well and truly here. For the last few mornings there has been a frost on the lawn, and the hens have been rather reluctant to come down for breakfast. They emerge slowly, blearily blinking in to the faint light before stuffing their crops with pellets. As soon as they've refuelled, they retreat to the relative warmth of the coop. I don't blame them.
Sometime around mid morning they decide that conditions have improved enough to warrant a rampage around the garden. After a short sprint, most end up huddled in the corner in a vain attempt to catch some warmth from the weakening sun. After just a few hours, my ladies have usually had enough. I am back to making a warm porridge for them laced with poultry spice, and they devour this before taking themselves off to bed at 6pm. All in all, the rapid change in temperature has mightily disgruntled them.
I was upstairs when I heard the cat scream. I assumed that a rogue moggy had got in to a fisticuff's situation with another of it's kind, and looked nosily out of the window. The cat was in the back garden. The hens were free ranging. Not good. By the time I got to the backdoor, I realised that I hadn't heard one bok from the girls. Hmmm.
The cat is an irregular visitor. It is a young white, ginger and black tom and has shown considerable interest in the hens over the past few months. It was now peering out from behind the blueberry bushes in the corner. I initially assumed it had taken up this vantage point all the better to stalk from. However on closer inspection, I realised that the cat was the one being stalked.
Maeve stood in the middle of the lawn, hackles and wings raised. She strutted back and forth, just a few steps, in what was clearly a 'come and have a go if you think you're hard enough' manner. The cat was apparently unnerved by this which seemed odd, until I remembered that I'd heard the sound of a considerably unhappy cat just a moment ago from upstairs. The other hens were nowhere to be seen, but I could hear appalled mutterings from the coop. I suspect that once the cat had shown itself, the flock scattered. All but Maeve ran for safety. Already in a vile mood due to her moult, and with the added indignity of the lack of sunbathing opportunities at this time of year, the appearance of the feline intruder apparently proved too much. It is easy to imagine Maeve leaping in to the air, and going all kung fu master on the poor puss. Either that, or she waited for him to stalk close enough to be within pecking range, and then went for the tender flesh of the nose. Either way, Tiddles had apparently got more than he bargained for.
I watched this bizarre stand off involving one of natures most efficient hunters and a very small pissed off chicken, and thought: that's my girl. She stopped her display momentarily to eyeball me, then turned back to the cowering cat. Lifting her skirts and thrusting her head forward, she charged. The cat was up and over the fence in seconds. Maeve watched it's progress, then shook herself and nibbled at the lawn. One by one, the rest of the flock emerged and joined her. The cat sat on a neighbouring fence, and tried to regain it's poise. Every so often it would crane it's neck, presumably to make sure that the raggedy black chicken wasn't in pursuit.
I wouldn't put it past her, to be honest.
Sometime around mid morning they decide that conditions have improved enough to warrant a rampage around the garden. After a short sprint, most end up huddled in the corner in a vain attempt to catch some warmth from the weakening sun. After just a few hours, my ladies have usually had enough. I am back to making a warm porridge for them laced with poultry spice, and they devour this before taking themselves off to bed at 6pm. All in all, the rapid change in temperature has mightily disgruntled them.
I was upstairs when I heard the cat scream. I assumed that a rogue moggy had got in to a fisticuff's situation with another of it's kind, and looked nosily out of the window. The cat was in the back garden. The hens were free ranging. Not good. By the time I got to the backdoor, I realised that I hadn't heard one bok from the girls. Hmmm.
The cat is an irregular visitor. It is a young white, ginger and black tom and has shown considerable interest in the hens over the past few months. It was now peering out from behind the blueberry bushes in the corner. I initially assumed it had taken up this vantage point all the better to stalk from. However on closer inspection, I realised that the cat was the one being stalked.
Maeve stood in the middle of the lawn, hackles and wings raised. She strutted back and forth, just a few steps, in what was clearly a 'come and have a go if you think you're hard enough' manner. The cat was apparently unnerved by this which seemed odd, until I remembered that I'd heard the sound of a considerably unhappy cat just a moment ago from upstairs. The other hens were nowhere to be seen, but I could hear appalled mutterings from the coop. I suspect that once the cat had shown itself, the flock scattered. All but Maeve ran for safety. Already in a vile mood due to her moult, and with the added indignity of the lack of sunbathing opportunities at this time of year, the appearance of the feline intruder apparently proved too much. It is easy to imagine Maeve leaping in to the air, and going all kung fu master on the poor puss. Either that, or she waited for him to stalk close enough to be within pecking range, and then went for the tender flesh of the nose. Either way, Tiddles had apparently got more than he bargained for.
I watched this bizarre stand off involving one of natures most efficient hunters and a very small pissed off chicken, and thought: that's my girl. She stopped her display momentarily to eyeball me, then turned back to the cowering cat. Lifting her skirts and thrusting her head forward, she charged. The cat was up and over the fence in seconds. Maeve watched it's progress, then shook herself and nibbled at the lawn. One by one, the rest of the flock emerged and joined her. The cat sat on a neighbouring fence, and tried to regain it's poise. Every so often it would crane it's neck, presumably to make sure that the raggedy black chicken wasn't in pursuit.
I wouldn't put it past her, to be honest.
Monday, 22 March 2010
On The Prowl
I am not a massive cat fan. No particular reason, but I would always consider myself more of a dog person. Dogs seem to offer unending devotion, where as a cat might move in two doors down because they buy a better brand of cat food. Their affection seems rather...transcient. That said, there have been a few cats that I have grown rather fond of. When we first moved in, there was a local moggy that we nicknamed Carpet Cat. It was a big, soppy, lazy tom, who would happily lay on your feet while you sat in the garden. Carpet Cat would even tolerate being dragged about the garden by the then toddling children, a resigned and indulgent expression on his face. He was unendingly gentle and patient. One day I realsied that I hadn't seen good old CC for a while, and he has never been seen since. I like to think that he found somewhere to live where the humans served fresh salmon, although a more sinister ending is probably more likely.
So, me and cats have rubbed along ok for the most part. My lovely chicken sitting neighbour has two posh long haired kitties who have the unfortunate belief that my front lawn is a toilet. Too posh to bury their leavings, my lawn is often dotted with little whirls of very stinky poo. My lovely neighbour can be regularly seen scooping the poop (she really is lovely). However, now that I keep chickens, my relationship with the feline species has altered. Where as before they were a distant sometime irritation, they are now a real threat.
In the last few months, we have aquired two determined hunters. The first one, a sleek black fellow, turned up shortly after christmas. He was a particularly skilled hunter, and could slink into the garden unseen. He kept himself hidden, and was only spotted by the ever tolerant husband. Now, the birds never even detected his presence, which was very worrying. I chased him out of the garden a couple of times, and touch wood, he hasn't returned. I suspect that he may have stuck to the shadows because the girls probably look quite a lot bigger close up than they do from the safety of the fence. Basically, I don't think he liked his chances.
The second chicken worrier showed up at the weekend. Thankfully, this young cat has a collar with bell fitted, and the birds heard it coming. An almighty racket alerted me to an intruder, and when I rushed outside I saw the white and ginger kitten bouncing around the lawn chasing the badly frightened birds. Reacting purely on instinct, I chased our unwelcome visitor over the fence with a hiss (the neighbours now really think I'm some kind of loopy animal impersonator). Finding a smattering of feathers on the lawn, I feared the worst. The girls had fled to the coop, and one by one I looked them over. The feathers belonged to Kiki, but she appeared to have no injuries. I can only assume that the speed in which she took off down the garden left some of her plummage behind. I watched the flock anxiously for the next couple of hours, fingers crossed that stress wouldn't overcome any of them. A dollop of apple cider vinegar in their drinker made me feel better.
This morning our feline visitor returned. The girls sent up the alarm call early, and I got to the back door just in time to see it drop behind the greenhouse. Again, I ran up the garden hissing like a mentalist and chased it off. The likelihood of a small cat mauling a hen is pretty small, but the stress and panic caused to the bird from being 'played' with can be lethal.
I will not be befriending this cat.
So, me and cats have rubbed along ok for the most part. My lovely chicken sitting neighbour has two posh long haired kitties who have the unfortunate belief that my front lawn is a toilet. Too posh to bury their leavings, my lawn is often dotted with little whirls of very stinky poo. My lovely neighbour can be regularly seen scooping the poop (she really is lovely). However, now that I keep chickens, my relationship with the feline species has altered. Where as before they were a distant sometime irritation, they are now a real threat.
In the last few months, we have aquired two determined hunters. The first one, a sleek black fellow, turned up shortly after christmas. He was a particularly skilled hunter, and could slink into the garden unseen. He kept himself hidden, and was only spotted by the ever tolerant husband. Now, the birds never even detected his presence, which was very worrying. I chased him out of the garden a couple of times, and touch wood, he hasn't returned. I suspect that he may have stuck to the shadows because the girls probably look quite a lot bigger close up than they do from the safety of the fence. Basically, I don't think he liked his chances.
The second chicken worrier showed up at the weekend. Thankfully, this young cat has a collar with bell fitted, and the birds heard it coming. An almighty racket alerted me to an intruder, and when I rushed outside I saw the white and ginger kitten bouncing around the lawn chasing the badly frightened birds. Reacting purely on instinct, I chased our unwelcome visitor over the fence with a hiss (the neighbours now really think I'm some kind of loopy animal impersonator). Finding a smattering of feathers on the lawn, I feared the worst. The girls had fled to the coop, and one by one I looked them over. The feathers belonged to Kiki, but she appeared to have no injuries. I can only assume that the speed in which she took off down the garden left some of her plummage behind. I watched the flock anxiously for the next couple of hours, fingers crossed that stress wouldn't overcome any of them. A dollop of apple cider vinegar in their drinker made me feel better.
This morning our feline visitor returned. The girls sent up the alarm call early, and I got to the back door just in time to see it drop behind the greenhouse. Again, I ran up the garden hissing like a mentalist and chased it off. The likelihood of a small cat mauling a hen is pretty small, but the stress and panic caused to the bird from being 'played' with can be lethal.
I will not be befriending this cat.
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