Being Broody Makes You Unpopular

Hilda is still broody. This isn't an unusual situation when it comes to pekins. In my experience, they are a tag team of nest hoggers. Of course, this brings it's own problems. A broody hen takes up space in the nest box, and that gets right on the other hens' bosoms.

Naturally, Hilda has set up her hormonal vigil in the favourite nest box. Never mind that there are four, yes, four, nest boxes to choose from, given half a chance they all prefer the one furthest from the pop hole and nearest the coop door. And now when the rest of the flock goes in to lay, there is an inflatable white pekin filling it up with her craziness and growling. Initially everyone took this with good grace, or at least the minimal of grumbling. But now Hilda has been broody for nearly a fortnight and their patience is running out.

Increasingly a commotion can be heard from the Palace as a narked hen wedges herself on top of the broody Hilda to lay her egg. As the laying hen leaves, she is wont to give Hilda a sharp peck to the comb, just to show her displeasure at the lack of privacy. As a result, Hilda's comb is beginning to look a little...nibbled. She isn't seriously hurt, but it could tip over in to violence at any time.

Under normal circumstances, I'd have broody caged the errant hen over the weekend. However, we won't be here so I can't. For the next two days Hilda will have to stay broody as I can't ask my chicken sitter to don the gardening gloves and broom handle necessary for handling a psychotic chicken. But her broody days are numbered. As of Monday, she's in the slammer.

Vera is still sitting tight to her eggs. I am trying very hard not to interfere in any way, but must admit I am struggling. I'm worrying that she isn't eating enough, or drinking enough, or pooing enough. She is such a tiny little thing, I won't take any chances with her welfare. However, every time I open the hutch to peer in at her, she glares at me in a distinctive 'Naff off' manner, so I suspect she is doing everything just as she should.

Betsy is missing her pal enough to attempt making friends with the pekins. Despite being chased and generally having iot made clear to her that she's not welcome, Betsy proves determined. She follows the flock about like an annoying little sister and even makes herself at home in the coop. The girls watch this audacity with slightly stunned inaction. So far, she has avoided any repercussions because of her 'Roadrunner' abilities. Serama are speedy.

Two weeks until hatch day.

Quick Edit: I have separated Hilda. I couldn't go away knowing that Maeve was attempting to eat her from the comb down. So now she is on the floor of the garage covered with a broody cage, most put out and kicking her water everywhere. I hope my chicken sitter doesn't kill me.

The Battle Line Has Been Crossed

The serama sisters have been with us for nearly two months now. They happily live together in the two tier rabbit hutch in the garage, and venture in to the garden when they think that the pekins aren't looking. With very little encouragement on my part, they have become silly tame. Especially Vera. The tiny black hen has a bad habit of running between your feet when you're mid step. I'm not sure if this is designed chicken evilness, in an attempt to give me a heart attack, or whether she is an adrenalin junkie. Perhaps given half a chance she'd be bungee jumping from the Palace roof.

I have more or less resigned myself to having a split flock at this stage. I mean, I've always thought that my pekin ladies were petite, but next to the serama twosome they are truly enormous. The serama are understandably wary, and if they do get too close to the others a chase usually ensues. In fact, Gladys and Hilda seem to zoom out of nowhere and run Betsy and Vera back in to the furthest recesses of the garage.

Today was a big clean out day, however, and as the ever tolerant husband was throwing things with enthusiasm in to a skip, I thought it best to keep the serama contained. As the pekins roamed about the garden, the serama were safely pecking about in the Palace run. After a bit, it became apparent that Hilda and Mabel needed to lay. As I was outside anyway, I decided to open the run door and see what would happen.

Initially, Betsy and Vera sat on the perch nearest the pop hole and tried to blend in with the wood work. As our Illustrious Leader and the grubby white hen had their legs crossed, however, they didn't bat an eyelid at the intrusion and just waddled up the ramp in to the coop with barely a glance at the newbies. I expected one of the other girls to chase them out soon enough, but after twenty minutes of being totally ignored Vera went looking for trouble. She alighted on to the ramp and had the audacity to stick her head in to the inner sanctum. Instantly, two narked hens squawked at her. Yet this didn't phase her one bit. I watched in amazement as she sauntered in to the coop, only pausing to call her side kick in with her.

With both serama now in the coop, I chewed my nails fretfully. Every so often, a stroppy 'Bwaaaaaaark' issued forth from the nest boxes, but no real sounds of trouble. Unable to bear it any longer, I peeked inside the door. Unbelievably, Betsy and Vera had climbed in to the nest box between Mabel and Hilda and were chattering gently. Mabel looked suitably disgusted. She is a very private chicken, and the others usually show her the respect her position deserves by letting her lay in peace. Now not only was Hilda in the nest boxes with her, but now two pip squeaks were chatting right by her left ear. Unbelievable.

Hilda was busy laying, and only had time to hiss at me in passing.

Deciding that the hens had obviously called a truce, I left them to it. An hour later, the ever tolerant husband stuck his head in the door to tell me that ASBO Chicken had chased Betsy across the lawn and back in to the garage. I wasn't surprised. I expected that both serama would be back in their lodgings discussing the morning's events within minutes, and thought no more of it. Until a while later when I went out to hang the washing.

I could hear that Mabel was still in the nest box. This isn't unusual. Mabel really likes to make the most of her nest time and can often hog the best box for hours. However, these weren't normal 'Mabel in labour' sounds. These were more 'Naff off or I'll eat you' sounds. Curious, I opened the nest box and peered in. I saw Mabel's voluminous derriere, but that was all. The other boxes were vacant. With a frown, I secured the door and went to check on the serama. I found Betsy dust bathing happily in the wood shavings, but no sign of Vera. A quick scout about the garden proved fruitless, and with a slightly panicky feeling I considered the probability of Vera having escaped through the garage while the ever tolerant husband was filling the skip. In my mind's eye, she was road-runnering up the road as I stood there, half way to Birmingham.

Before I sent out a search party, I opened the nest boxes again and was greeted with Mabel, side on. She had shifetd herself around a bit, which gave me then a view through to the coop proper. Suddenly, a small black head popped up over the lip of the nest box. Mabel raised all of her hackle feathers and squawked. The little head dropped back out of sight. Mabel relaxed. The head reappeared, agitating my top hen all over again. No wonder Mabel had spent so long on the nest. She was being taunted by a very cheeky serama playing the chicken equivalent of 'Knock Down Ginger'. I grabbed the errant Vera from her hiding place in the coop and deposited her back with Betsy. She seemed quite happy about her little adventure, and a mere five minutes later Mabel announced her egg. With no small measure of relief, I'm betting.

This could be interesting.

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....

Congratulations! It's A Nest Box!

You know that hen who went broody in September? Just as it started to get cold and miserable? Celia? Guess what? She is still broody. Yes, hard as it is to believe, the insane silver partridge is still firmly welded to the nest. I have had various attempts at breaking the spell, but she just plays along until I think she's cured and then legs it up the ramp as soon as I turn my back. I'm beginning to wonder if her software needs a reboot.

I've had determined broodies before, but generally the psychosis sets in during a more rational time of the year. Such as the spring or summer. As temperatures are plummeting well in to the minuses here in the midlands, I have to wonder just how crackers Celia is. No rational hen would consider these conditions perfect for rearing chicks in. The fact that she hasn't even had an egg to sit on in weeks and weeks is also perplexing. Usually a broody only stays broody for any length of time if she can find eggs to sit on/steal. Curiously, Celia doesn't seem interested in eggs. I have come to the conclusion that the little oddball is trying to hatch the nest box.

If I shut her out, she chunters with distress for a bit before joining the rest of the flock on a foray about the garden. As soon as able, though, she's back in to her beloved nest. The rest of the hens ignore her having obviously written her off as loopy. She is eating and drinking, and her overall condition is good. Apart from her tummy/chest feathers, which have taken on a bit of a wavy appearance what with being rubbed in to wood shavings for hours and hours a day.

If the weather was warmer, I would dunk her in a bucket of water and then broody cage her. However, with the cold being quite extreme the first option would be animal cruelty and even the second option leaves her at risk of not making it through the night. So I have devised a cunning plan. Her favoured nest box is the one nearest the pop hole. Tomorrow morning I am going to block it off. Now, she might just move next door which will be a little annoying (but not a major issue because none of the hens are currently laying. I could just shut down the whole nest box wing of the Palace). But if like I suspect she is actually mothering nest box number four, she might come to her senses.

Well, I can hope.

Darth Doris And The Onset Of Winter Proper

Now that winter is in full swing the hens and I see each other mostly divided by double glazing. Much as I love my chooks, sitting outside in the freezing cold does not appeal. I sit at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. Occassionally, Gladys will wander up to the back door and tap haughtily, demanding a treat. I perform the necessary husbandry quickly so that I can get back to the central heating. Therefore, the girls have to work a bit harder to get my attention.

Doris has hit upon a novel way of getting me to linger. She breathes heavily through her nostrils. The sound is hard to describe, and saying that she sounds like a chicken doing an impression of Darth Vader probably won't help. Yet that is what she sounds like. She perches in the Palace run, happily deep breathing apparently at will. If I grab her for a closer examination, all nostril music abruptly ceases. I go through the necessary health checks and come up blank. We stare at each other for a bit. Sometimes Doris tries to engage me in conversation 'Bok bok bok?'. The second I place her back down and turn to come inside, the Sith impersonation starts up again. Sometimes she stops if I give her a hard look.

Maude has taken an interest in this phenomenon, and cranes her neck around to peer up her flockmates nose. She mutters interestedly to Doris while carrying out these examinations. Doris randomly Darth's, and then stops when bored. Occassionally, Maude pecks at Doris's nostrils in a spirit of helping. This is rarely appreciated, but does stop the droning. As Doris is showing no signs of illness or lack of condition, I am for now going to put this behaviour down to attention seeking.

Luckily, the hens have no access to the weather forecast. I do, and am bracing myself for possible snow in the next few days. Whether or not the white stuff shows up is debatable, but the freezing conditions at night are not. I will be adding a deep layer of woodshavings to all nest boxes so that the girls can make themselves comfortable. Sleeping in the nest boxes is deeply undesirable when the hens are laying, but as none are I am quite happy for them to be used as bedrooms.

Although I pity whoever ends up sharing with the still arsey Maeve.

Egg Drought

It seems unbelievable to me that just a few months ago I was being buried under an avalanche of eggs. The girls were going full throttle, and at their most productive I was getting close to forty eggs a week. My egg basket was over flowing, and I resorted to giving boxes away to anyone who knocked on the door (the British Gas salesman looked quite bewildered). Now, I look at the two lonely eggs lurking in the bottom of said egg basket and think: I won't be able to make a cake until March.

To be fair to the flock, the two newbies are not yet in lay. Mabel, Maude and Doris are in moult, and Maeve is about to go in to it. The partridge pair are both welded to the nest, more interested in incubating phantom eggs than laying any. Still, I can't help but feel a bit hard done by. Last year I had a few eggs a week well in to November. We appear to have shut up shop early this year.

Aside from two softies (I suspect Mabel), I've had no nest box bounty for a fortnight. For the first time this year I might have to resort to buying eggs from the supermarket. Perhaps if I wave the box about near the hens they'll be shamed in to getting back to work. However, as they are currently spark out on the patio catching the last of the years sunshine, I highly doubt it.

Apparently, they're all taking a holiday.

Hysteria Is Catching

I still have two broodies. Celia and Purdy are under the impression that they could become mummy chickens. Despite the fact that there are no eggs. And it's October. They are completely mental. Unfortunately, they are also totally single minded and refuse to be distracted.

Every so often, they leave the coop in a flapping, squawking tornado of psychosis. The other hens will be peacefully pottering, or dust bathing, or generally just being quiet. Suddenly, the loopy twosome will explode from the coop door and cause ructions. The squawking and flapping ripples through the flock in a bizarre mexican wave. Celia startles Mabel. Mabel leaps up, startling Maude. Maude takes off down the garden, frightening Doris. Doris runs around in a circle, shrieking like she's being plucked alive. The babies jump, scare each other, and inadvertently startle Mabel. And so it goes on.

The only one immune to all the fuss is Maeve. She watches this spectacle from her hiding place in the shrubbery, tracking the baton of mentalness as it passes through her flockmates. Just as it's dying down, and feathers are being unruffled, she might decide to jump out and kung fu kick someone in the head. This triggers the whole shebang again. She seems pleased with her handy work. The others look knackered by the time that the broodies return to the nest box.

In other news, I am toying with the idea of setting up a webcam in the Palace and streaming it to my blog. I say toying, because I haven't the faintest idea how to do it. In fact, I don't even know what kind of camera I'd need.

If anyone could give me any pointers, I'd be very grateful.

Some October Pics

The sun was shining here this morning, so I took advantage of the fine weather and cleaned out the Palace. The girls were happy to pose for a few snaps, as long as I bribed the narky madams with raisins.

Mabel, coming nicely through her moult.

Maeve, aka ASBO Chicken, eyes up the raisins. You can just see Maude rushing in to shot.

Maeve, Mabel and Doris. Mabel is doing her best pneumatic drill impression, hence the blurry head.

The eldest takes his life in his hands removing a broody Celia from the nest box.

The marvellously frizzled Gladys, and Hilda's glowing white bum.

Purdy, recently evicted from the nest box, chows down. Maude is considering an ambush.

The newbies huddle in the border, catching the last of the sunshine.

Purdy disobeying the 'don't drink from the bird bath' rule. Sigh.

Hilda and Gladys might look nonchalant, but it's faked. They have just flattened that plant.

Maeve and Doris are unimpressed with the invisible treats.

Hilda about to decimate the globe thistles.

Autumn Broodies Are Bonkers

Purdy has decided to join Celia in her broody psychosis. I have decided to blame this completely ridiculous (not to mention totally unsuitable) state of affairs on the fact that these two ladies are not yet a year old. They are obviously in the grip of adolescent, hormone induced unreasonableness. A more seasoned hen wouldn't dream of bothering with all this pallaver in October.

Daily, I turf them out of the nest box and rescue any eggs (Out of eight chickens, I now have one laying girl. ASBO Chicken is still going strong and keeping me in cake). Purdy leaps up, shrieks her head off and runs laps around the garden. She is generally persued by the mighty Mille's, who for some reason favour the galloping Purdy with their sexual favors. She is not a particularly willing participant.

Celia remains flattened on the lawn, like an elaborate cow pat. I nudge her with my foot, and recieve growls for my troubles. I have learnt that approaching her with my hands is painful and fruitless. Gradually, I shove the spaced out chicken across the grass. Maeve usually wanders over at this point to deliver a few sharp pecks to Celia's head. Even this rough treatment merely earns her a hiss. I shoo Maeve away, and stick my welly under the reluctant silver partridge in an attempt to get her up on her feet. Eventually, she stands like someone awakening from a deep sleep. She staggers a short distance, and usually defecates in a truly spectacular fashion.

Broody droppings are always vile, but Celia has the ability to create something so mind bogglingly enormous and fetid that it has to be seen to be believed. The first time I came across one of these ginormo-poo's I thought it must have been left by a fox and became quite alarmed. She stands next to her creation, looking at me as if to say 'See? Are you happy now?!'.

I can only imagine that if I didn't force her from the nest occassionally, she might actually explode.

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.

Handbags At Dawn

All hell appears to have broken loose amongst the flock. I'm not sure if Maeve's adolescence has caused the unrest, but I certainly hope that it settles down soon. Doris and Belinda have fallen out, big time.

Both hens were in the nest box, and I could hear a bit of squawking. This isn't unusual, and is generally just a matter of one girl moving up a bit so that the other can wedge herself into the preferred nest. I returned to watering the greenhouse. The squawking reached a crescendo, and suddenly Belinda came running down the ramp from the coop, muttered and shook her head a bit, and then ran back in. Again, this wouldn't be that unusual, as Lindy loathes laying eggs, and often legs it if she thinks she can escape from her duty. This 'in and out' series of events was played out a couple of times more, with Belinda becoming more and more agitated. With a desperate effort, she flew up on top of the coop, presumably so that she could abseil down the other side and surprise Doris into giving up the nest. It was at this point that my eldest son noticed that Lindy was bleeding. A lot.

I rushed over to the frantic hen and picked her up. Lindy's comb was literally running with blood, and she was keeping her eyes shut. The ever tolerant husband bounded up the stairs to fetch a towel to wrap the shocked bird into, so that I could begin to examine her. With a cloth and some cold water, I set about trying to clean her up. Belinda stayed perfectly still, and I was relieved to see her open her eyes. The main injury seemed to be to the base of her comb, where some of the flesh was missing. She also had multiple cuts and scrapes along her face.

The ever tolerant husband fed her a couple of raisins, which she scoffed greedily. We breathed a collective sigh of relief. A greedy chicken is a basically ok chicken. Digging out the gentian violet, we managed to dab it on to her injuries. Now that we knew she was alright, our thoughts turned to her (usually) best chook pal, Doris.

Doris was still in the nest box, Belinda's blood across her beak. There were also blood splatters in the coop. Firmly, the youngest son grasped her and dumped her on the floor. Belinda is his chicken, and he was taking it personally. I fetched the broody cage, and deposited a disgruntled Doris into it. Belinda was then free to lay her egg in peace, which she managed in record time. I then released Doris, so that she could lay her egg.

Belinda by this time was mooching about the garden, happily munching stray aphids and scratching at the lawn. All of a sudden, a demented Maeve leaped from the shrubbery with a war cry and a battle of epic proportions commenced. Maeve is obviously unhappy with her positioning in the pecking order, and decided to try and take out Lindy. Neither bird would submit, and the feathers were starting to fly. I waded in, with cries of 'Leave it out! She's just not worth it!' etc, and they reluctantly retreated to their own corners. Five minutes later, they were at it again.

Change is afoot.

Belinda Is Doing Time

Lindy has now been determinedly broody for 7 weeks. Apart from the fact that it's annoying, because she doesn't lay any eggs, it's also not good for her. She has lost a considerable amount of weight, and her feathers have become dull and scruffy. Belinda needs to come out of her hormonal craziness, and soon. Hence why she is currently pacing like a mad chicken inside a wire cage, constructed by the ever tolerant husband.

There are many reasons why Belinda is unhappy with this arrangement. For starters, there is no cosy nest box, just a wire floor so that the wind can cool her under carriage. There is also no shelter of any kind, so no comfy place to build a nest. There is food and water, but nothing to perch on. She can sit and she can pace, but she can do neither in chicken comfort. Plus, the others seem to take great delight on sitting on the top of her prison, or stretching out next to it in a manner which suggests mocking the poor little hen.

Hopefully, Lindy's stay in the clink will be reasonably brief. Within three days, she should get so uncomfortable and fed up that she'll go off the idea of nest sitting altogether and rejoin the flock.

And once the cell is free, Mini will be paying it a visit.