Welcome To The Jungle

The British summer continues in it's usual soggy manner. The hens can regularly be seen, huddling in the convent, throwing disgusted looks out at the rain. The humans are behaving in a very similar fashion, actually.

All this rain has encouraged the garden to go wild. Weeds are springing up everywhere, and the grass is having a definite growth spurt. It desperately needs taming, but as our garden is on clay, at the moment it is a squelchy bog. The girls can no longer weeble along, but have to hop and jump from one spot to the next. The long grass gets tangled up in their foot feathers, leading to the hilarious sight of small chickens tethered to the ground and having to eat their way out.

In protest at the ground conditions, they have taken to perching in inappropriate places. Like on top of the Convent, or the wheelie bin, or (worryingly) the barbecue. I'm assuming that this last location was chosen purely for convenience, and not as a suicide attempt.

The hemcore in the run has been so thoroughly soaked, that it's woven itself into a hemp mattress. The chooks have no chance of scratching about in it, and it's poo absorbing qualities have been severely compromised. All in all, it's pretty grim, and I prefer the easibed.

Maeve Aquires A Trophy

I waited all weekend for a dry spell so that I could dismantle the Convent and clean out the run, but it was only this morning that the weather obliged. I dutifully scrubbed, swept and shovelled out soggy easibed with a healthy measure of chicken poo. In order to get all of the bedding, it's necessary for me to get into the run. As the Convent is only four foot high, this can only be achieved by squatting and shuffling along like a crab. The girls are always intrigued by this. It perplexes them to be outside, while the human is in the cage. At some point, I expect to hear the bolt slide home as they deduce a way to lock me in. This might sound paranoid, but I have long suspected that the stupidity of chickens might be over rated.

So, anyway, I was in the run doing my crab shuffle, and scooping the poop. Maeve watched me curiously from the doorway, and occasionally darted forwards to peck the stud on the pocket of my jeans. That'll show me who's boss. There isn't actually room to turn around in the Convent, so it's necessary to back out in crab fashion. In doing so, I managed to collide with the ramp to the coop, and fell inelegantly sideways. I found myself lying on my side, face pressed to the fairly fragrant concrete slabs of the run. I had fallen in such a way, that my knee was wedged against the bucket I was filling with manure, and my back was jammed against the weld mesh that makes up the Convent's sides. Oh dear.

While I viewed the situation from this unexpected angle, Maeve's head peered into view. She clucked at me questioningly. I rolled my eyes in a rubbish shooing gesture. She crept closer. I actually said the word 'Shoo!'. She cocked her head to one side, and walked a bit closer. I wriggled a bit, in an effort to unstick myself. Maeve jumped up onto my shoulder and peered into my ear, muttering quite loudly (from my perspective, anyway). I shook my shoulder, in an effort to unperch her. She squawked with displeasure, and then plucked a strand of hair from my head before legging it out of the Convent and haring off down the garden.

At this point, the shock from my fall had passed and I managed to free myself from the run. Creakily, I unfolded myself from the floor and shuffled out into the daylight. Maeve was running laps, a long brown hair in her beak, and a look of triumph in her eyes.

I'm going to keep an extra careful eye on that hen.

The Aftermath

Well, Maeve got a pecking. I got back from the school run to find her stood on the ramp, a tiny cut on her face. The others were ignoring her and scratching about in the easibed, trying to look innocent. As soon as I opened the door, Maeve shot out of the run and high tailed it down to the greenhouse, jumping at the glass desperate to escape the little monsters. The others sauntered out, scratching and pecking at the lawn, swaggering with evil chicken pride. Maeve had been put in her place.

I loathe introductions. It's stressful, horrible to watch and can so easily turn into chicken murder. However, it pays to persevere. Maeve may have a small cut, but she might have easily done that herself in her attempts to escape. I haven't witnessed any really nasty attacks, and this seems more like an initiation than full on intent to maim. So, at school run time she's going back in.

Now the question is, will she ever forgive me?