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.
Showing posts with label pigeon. silkie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pigeon. silkie. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Saturday, 7 August 2010
The Summer's In Full Swing
The hens are very busy at the moment. There is a lot of new plant growth to eat, a greenhouse to vandalise and mysterious peepings from the garage that need to be investigated. Not to mention the extremely tall human walking about and making horrendous noises with various power tools (we are having the bathrooms replaced). Only some of them are busy laying eggs, though.
Purdy is still in her broody trance, shrieking at anyone who gets too close. The soppy silkie sisters have laid about fifteen eggs between them, and then returned to broodiness. Sigh. The others are picking up the slack like the troopers that they are, although Mabel seems to be having a bit of a problem.
For the last month or two, I have occassionally found an egg in the run, or on the coop floor. It's taken a while to work out who the culprit is, but it's now clear that it's the mighty Mabel. I am most puzzled. The other girls are using the nest boxes and there is no sign or red mite. I frequently see Mabel sitting in the nest box, yet she rarely leaves her egg there any more. I'm beginning to wonder if she is unaware that the egg is somehow following her out of the nest. A sort of egg incontinence. I have given her the once over, and can find no obvious injury or weakness, so it remains a mystery. If anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them.
The chicks are growing up scarily fast. My plan is to sell the suspected boy and girl black chicks as a pair, and to keep the lavender. That is if it proves to be a girl. Despite feathering up fastest, and having a very ladylike manner, it does have more of a comb than the other female. So we shall wait and see.
If the lavender is a girl, it will be staying. And named Penelope.
Purdy is still in her broody trance, shrieking at anyone who gets too close. The soppy silkie sisters have laid about fifteen eggs between them, and then returned to broodiness. Sigh. The others are picking up the slack like the troopers that they are, although Mabel seems to be having a bit of a problem.
For the last month or two, I have occassionally found an egg in the run, or on the coop floor. It's taken a while to work out who the culprit is, but it's now clear that it's the mighty Mabel. I am most puzzled. The other girls are using the nest boxes and there is no sign or red mite. I frequently see Mabel sitting in the nest box, yet she rarely leaves her egg there any more. I'm beginning to wonder if she is unaware that the egg is somehow following her out of the nest. A sort of egg incontinence. I have given her the once over, and can find no obvious injury or weakness, so it remains a mystery. If anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them.
The chicks are growing up scarily fast. My plan is to sell the suspected boy and girl black chicks as a pair, and to keep the lavender. That is if it proves to be a girl. Despite feathering up fastest, and having a very ladylike manner, it does have more of a comb than the other female. So we shall wait and see.
If the lavender is a girl, it will be staying. And named Penelope.
Tuesday, 20 July 2010
Lockdown
Today is day 18 of the incubation process. Theoretically, the chicks could hatch at any moment, but I am not really expecting anything to happen until at least thursday (day 20). I turned the eggs for the last time this morning, and have upped the humidity from 30-35% to 50-55%. Now it's a waiting game.
Purdy is deep in the broody zone, and is proving to be a formidable hen. All broodies are completely psychotic, but usually they restrict themselves to growls and threat displays. Not so Purdy. Twice now she has flown at me in a whirling, hormonal dervish of whupass. It is quite unsettling to have a small ball of feathers launch itself at you with a low growl. She has been admonished for this behaviour, and I have flattened her to the deck a la a cockerel. She mutters chickenny oaths and eyeballs me with malicious intent. However, her new boldness is keeping her safe. Even the formidable ASBO chicken, aka Maeve, is not keen to peck the head of this broody. If she doesn't snap out of it soon, I will have to don the gardening gloves and dunk her in a cold bath. I expect to bear the scars.
With the arrival of summer, I have taken to leaving the back door open. This has its downside, as hens are incredibly inquisitive. I have so far found the silkies sunbathing under the dining table, Maude staring rapt at the washing machine on spin cycle and Doris scoffing grapes out of the fruit bowl. In a more sinister twist, Maeve likes to sit behind the curtain, occassionally muttering a hex. It is most disturbing. Mabel will sometimes venture inside, do a stately tour of the kitchen area, and then sail back outside with her beak in the air. Celia hovers by the back door, clearly wanting to venture forth but lacking the courage without her nosier friend.
Thank God we don't have a cat flap.
Purdy is deep in the broody zone, and is proving to be a formidable hen. All broodies are completely psychotic, but usually they restrict themselves to growls and threat displays. Not so Purdy. Twice now she has flown at me in a whirling, hormonal dervish of whupass. It is quite unsettling to have a small ball of feathers launch itself at you with a low growl. She has been admonished for this behaviour, and I have flattened her to the deck a la a cockerel. She mutters chickenny oaths and eyeballs me with malicious intent. However, her new boldness is keeping her safe. Even the formidable ASBO chicken, aka Maeve, is not keen to peck the head of this broody. If she doesn't snap out of it soon, I will have to don the gardening gloves and dunk her in a cold bath. I expect to bear the scars.
With the arrival of summer, I have taken to leaving the back door open. This has its downside, as hens are incredibly inquisitive. I have so far found the silkies sunbathing under the dining table, Maude staring rapt at the washing machine on spin cycle and Doris scoffing grapes out of the fruit bowl. In a more sinister twist, Maeve likes to sit behind the curtain, occassionally muttering a hex. It is most disturbing. Mabel will sometimes venture inside, do a stately tour of the kitchen area, and then sail back outside with her beak in the air. Celia hovers by the back door, clearly wanting to venture forth but lacking the courage without her nosier friend.
Thank God we don't have a cat flap.
Friday, 16 July 2010
The Final Straight
So, now I find myself on day 14 with my pekin frizzle eggs. All chicks are alove and (literally) kicking at this stage, so I am quietly thrilled. However, anything could happen between now and hatch day, so I am learning the truth of the old adage about chicken counting. Still, just in case I do have chicks by next weekend, I have to be prepared.
This weekend I will be organising the brooder in the garage. I'm undecided just yet on whether to use the wooden box I used for Purdy and Celia as babies, or whether to put any resulting fluff balls in one of the childrens old plastic toy boxes. Regardless, the heat lamp will have to be set up and some non-slip flooring installed. I have a chick drinker, which I have been reliably informed needs to be filled with marbles to protect against any drownings. I need to pick up some medicated chick crumb to protect against cocciodosis, and then I should be all set.
The chicks were always going to be housed in the garage, yet a slight complication has put a spanner in the works. We are having two entire bathrooms delivered next week, and they will also need to be stored in the garage. I'm not quite sure how this will work yet, beyond envisioning the chicks living in the bath. We shall see.
The main flock have been most put out by the wet weather. Bad tempered pecking is on the up, and the silkies have taken to gobbling like deranged turkeys at the sky. A nightingales song it is not. Mabel is randomly flattening underlings, apparently more out of boredom than anything else (Actually, while I've mentioned Mabel, it seems that she has become a bit of a pin up. Several of my twitter pals are currently incubating millefleur pekin eggs based on her magnificence. She would expect nothing less).
The next week should be very interesting.
This weekend I will be organising the brooder in the garage. I'm undecided just yet on whether to use the wooden box I used for Purdy and Celia as babies, or whether to put any resulting fluff balls in one of the childrens old plastic toy boxes. Regardless, the heat lamp will have to be set up and some non-slip flooring installed. I have a chick drinker, which I have been reliably informed needs to be filled with marbles to protect against any drownings. I need to pick up some medicated chick crumb to protect against cocciodosis, and then I should be all set.
The chicks were always going to be housed in the garage, yet a slight complication has put a spanner in the works. We are having two entire bathrooms delivered next week, and they will also need to be stored in the garage. I'm not quite sure how this will work yet, beyond envisioning the chicks living in the bath. We shall see.
The main flock have been most put out by the wet weather. Bad tempered pecking is on the up, and the silkies have taken to gobbling like deranged turkeys at the sky. A nightingales song it is not. Mabel is randomly flattening underlings, apparently more out of boredom than anything else (Actually, while I've mentioned Mabel, it seems that she has become a bit of a pin up. Several of my twitter pals are currently incubating millefleur pekin eggs based on her magnificence. She would expect nothing less).
The next week should be very interesting.
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Freeranging Feather Dusters
After a week of keeping the new chooks in a separate pen, they are now freely exploring the garden. The girls are eyeing them with bafflement. Every so often, Doris or Maeve charges at them, then stops, paralysed with indecision. Are they chickens? Really?
Mabel took to jumping into their pen to scoff their growers pellets, but was completely uninterested in showing the newbies who's the boss. She appears to have dismissed them as another species, and therefore not worthy of her attention. Mini just kept creeping up to the fence, and staring at them, unable to believe her eyes. Maeve liked to pull out a few feathers if she got close enough, but given half a chance Maeve would remove your toe nails, so it wasn't really indicative of her believing that the silkies were hens. Maude ignored them completely. Doris shrieked, for a change.
The newbies are much more on the ball, and have definitely pegged the girls as a threat. They keep a respectful distance, and stick together. Mini is tailing them at a discreet distance, clearly wanting to initiate something, although she remains unsure of whether these furry birds are friends or foes.
We anxiously await the penny dropping, and chicken tyranny to prevail.
Mabel took to jumping into their pen to scoff their growers pellets, but was completely uninterested in showing the newbies who's the boss. She appears to have dismissed them as another species, and therefore not worthy of her attention. Mini just kept creeping up to the fence, and staring at them, unable to believe her eyes. Maeve liked to pull out a few feathers if she got close enough, but given half a chance Maeve would remove your toe nails, so it wasn't really indicative of her believing that the silkies were hens. Maude ignored them completely. Doris shrieked, for a change.
The newbies are much more on the ball, and have definitely pegged the girls as a threat. They keep a respectful distance, and stick together. Mini is tailing them at a discreet distance, clearly wanting to initiate something, although she remains unsure of whether these furry birds are friends or foes.
We anxiously await the penny dropping, and chicken tyranny to prevail.
Monday, 30 March 2009
Adventures in Chicken Hunting - Part Two
After several days of phoning/emailing every chook breeder on the internet, I was beginning to think my search was hopeless. Most birds have only just started laying again after their winter break, and fertility is only just beginning to climb. What birds that were available, tended to be weeny chicks rather than rough and tough pullets who could hold their own. Damn.
I decided to widen my search area, and managed to find two places that had birds. One place had three kinds of pekin, black, black mottled and buff. No frizzles. The other place had frizzled silkies. No pekin. Oh, and they were both nearly seventy miles away. Damn.
Now, the ever tolerant husband must have got sick of me going on about finding a new chook. He nodded and smiled in all the right places as a rambled on about various distances, couriers and possibly getting the bus. With a resigned air, he told me to grab the kids some snacks and get in the car.
I will just take a moment here to say just how fabulous the ever tolerant husband is. Yesterday, he drove a hundred and forty mile round trip just to pick up a chicken. The man is a star. Or possibly certifiable.
So, we set off in search of the silkie frizzle. The lady had sent me a lovely picture of one of her young pullets, and I was quite smitten. We barralled along the country roads, attempting to find the most obscure little village imaginable. Several phone calls and wrong turns later, we pulled up outside the breeders cottage.
And what a cottage! It was a gorgeously charming little rough stone place, honey coloured and cosy looking. Two blonde ringleted children were playing out the front, surrounded by assorted fabulous birds. The breeder waved at us from the spot where she was wrestling a guinea fowl, and we went through the gate into this bird utopia. I was in heaven.
Introductions were made, and I rhapsodised over her set up. The boys ran off to play with her children on a huge trampoline, and we discussed all things fowl. It was all going terribly well, and I couldn't wait to meet my new pullet.
Suddenly, from behind us, there was the most bizarre noise. Turning around, we were greeted with a truly terrifying sight.
Tom the turkey stag was seriously annoyed, and seriously big. He stood tall, wings spread and dropped to the ground, feathers all raised in a threatening display. The tips of his wings dragged over the grass, making a really creepy ticking sound. He seemed to hover about the garden, like some feathery dalek. To be fair, no turkey is particularly good looking, but Tom looked like someone had turned his head inside out. This turkey was huge, slightly deranged, and apparently wanted to fight and/or mate with us. Yikes.
One of the breeders children casually walked past this psychotic vision and nudged it with a ruler, at which point he hovered off in the other direction. Nervously calling to the boys to stay on the trampoline because, gosh, isn't it fun?! (Nothing to do with the giant insane christmas dinner, noooooo), we wandered around various pens looking at her impressive collection of birds. I have to confess, I would have enjoyed this experience a lot more if I hadn't felt it necessary to keep one eye on the hovering turkey, who kept sneaking up on us with creepy speed. I casually dropped my handbag from my shoulder so that the strap was in my hand, ready to batter the evil Tom around the chops if he made a mad dash towards me, or tried to eat my children. He settled for gobbling at us periodically, and looking scary.
The breeder dropped down on her haunches to show me the silkie/frizzles parents, and I dutifully copied her. The turkey hovered behind us, a bit too close for comfort, and when the ever tolerant husband issued a manly scream I thought he'd been turkeyed. However, it was merely that the breeders friendly pet pigeon had decided to sit on his head.
Finally, we went to look at the chooks for sale. I fell in love with one of the little silkie/frizzle chicks, and picked it up. It instantly pooed on me, and then decided to be ambiguous about it's sex. Silkies are notoriously hard to sex unless they either crow or lay an egg. Now, the husband is extremely tolerant, but the idea that he might have to do this crazy journey again to return a cockeral was too much even for him. Reluctantly, I put her back and considered hubby's choice.
This is the first time that the husband has ever shown any real interest in choosing a chook, but he was immediately drawn to the only pekin this breeder had. This tiny feather footed chick stumbled forward, gave us both the once over and then had a peck at my finger nail. Baby pekins are almost insufferably cute, and of course I melted. They are also much easier to sex, and this baby black mottled was definitely a girl. As I gave her a cuddle, I was dive bombed by the friendly pigeon. Hubby had seen it coming and ducked. What a gentleman, eh?
So, I am pleased to tell you that we now have a new black mottled pekin pullet by the name of Maeve. The husband even named her. I knew he'd get the bug eventually!
I decided to widen my search area, and managed to find two places that had birds. One place had three kinds of pekin, black, black mottled and buff. No frizzles. The other place had frizzled silkies. No pekin. Oh, and they were both nearly seventy miles away. Damn.
Now, the ever tolerant husband must have got sick of me going on about finding a new chook. He nodded and smiled in all the right places as a rambled on about various distances, couriers and possibly getting the bus. With a resigned air, he told me to grab the kids some snacks and get in the car.
I will just take a moment here to say just how fabulous the ever tolerant husband is. Yesterday, he drove a hundred and forty mile round trip just to pick up a chicken. The man is a star. Or possibly certifiable.
So, we set off in search of the silkie frizzle. The lady had sent me a lovely picture of one of her young pullets, and I was quite smitten. We barralled along the country roads, attempting to find the most obscure little village imaginable. Several phone calls and wrong turns later, we pulled up outside the breeders cottage.
And what a cottage! It was a gorgeously charming little rough stone place, honey coloured and cosy looking. Two blonde ringleted children were playing out the front, surrounded by assorted fabulous birds. The breeder waved at us from the spot where she was wrestling a guinea fowl, and we went through the gate into this bird utopia. I was in heaven.
Introductions were made, and I rhapsodised over her set up. The boys ran off to play with her children on a huge trampoline, and we discussed all things fowl. It was all going terribly well, and I couldn't wait to meet my new pullet.
Suddenly, from behind us, there was the most bizarre noise. Turning around, we were greeted with a truly terrifying sight.
Tom the turkey stag was seriously annoyed, and seriously big. He stood tall, wings spread and dropped to the ground, feathers all raised in a threatening display. The tips of his wings dragged over the grass, making a really creepy ticking sound. He seemed to hover about the garden, like some feathery dalek. To be fair, no turkey is particularly good looking, but Tom looked like someone had turned his head inside out. This turkey was huge, slightly deranged, and apparently wanted to fight and/or mate with us. Yikes.
One of the breeders children casually walked past this psychotic vision and nudged it with a ruler, at which point he hovered off in the other direction. Nervously calling to the boys to stay on the trampoline because, gosh, isn't it fun?! (Nothing to do with the giant insane christmas dinner, noooooo), we wandered around various pens looking at her impressive collection of birds. I have to confess, I would have enjoyed this experience a lot more if I hadn't felt it necessary to keep one eye on the hovering turkey, who kept sneaking up on us with creepy speed. I casually dropped my handbag from my shoulder so that the strap was in my hand, ready to batter the evil Tom around the chops if he made a mad dash towards me, or tried to eat my children. He settled for gobbling at us periodically, and looking scary.
The breeder dropped down on her haunches to show me the silkie/frizzles parents, and I dutifully copied her. The turkey hovered behind us, a bit too close for comfort, and when the ever tolerant husband issued a manly scream I thought he'd been turkeyed. However, it was merely that the breeders friendly pet pigeon had decided to sit on his head.
Finally, we went to look at the chooks for sale. I fell in love with one of the little silkie/frizzle chicks, and picked it up. It instantly pooed on me, and then decided to be ambiguous about it's sex. Silkies are notoriously hard to sex unless they either crow or lay an egg. Now, the husband is extremely tolerant, but the idea that he might have to do this crazy journey again to return a cockeral was too much even for him. Reluctantly, I put her back and considered hubby's choice.
This is the first time that the husband has ever shown any real interest in choosing a chook, but he was immediately drawn to the only pekin this breeder had. This tiny feather footed chick stumbled forward, gave us both the once over and then had a peck at my finger nail. Baby pekins are almost insufferably cute, and of course I melted. They are also much easier to sex, and this baby black mottled was definitely a girl. As I gave her a cuddle, I was dive bombed by the friendly pigeon. Hubby had seen it coming and ducked. What a gentleman, eh?
So, I am pleased to tell you that we now have a new black mottled pekin pullet by the name of Maeve. The husband even named her. I knew he'd get the bug eventually!
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