It Has All Worked Out Brilliantly

Yesterday was a very odd day for me. The peeps and the silkies were all rehomed with wonderful new owners within a matter of hours. While I knew that the silkies were going, the rapid leaving of the peeps was a bit of a shock. It shouldn't be, really, because a tiny pekin chick is just about the cutest thing ever next to a kitten, but still. They left home at five weeks of age, which is surely a record. The frizzle left first, and is now named Hedwig. The lavender and the black went to the same marvellous home as the silkies, and are now known as Beau and Peep. I wish them all long, happy, hen filled lives. I heard this morning that the silkies have slotted in seamlessly to their new flock, and are being courted by a silkie cockerel who can't believe his luck. I hope that they have found their best fit home.

So, last night I found myself shutting my six pekin girls in to the suddenly cavernous Palace. They were completely unmoved by the silkies departure, and things have certainly got a lot quieter in the back garden. I happily cleaned and disinfected the brooder in preparation for today. Because today, my frizzle came home.

I woke up this morning with that bubbly, excited feeling in my stomach. I joyously roused the rest of the household, and grinned my way through opening the coop and making breakfast. At this point my bubble was well and truly burst. My eldest child was unwell, and definitely not up to a 180 mile round trip to the breeder. I could have cried, or at the very least thrown a very unattractive tantrum.

Once again, the amazing ever tolerant husband stepped in, and with barely a grimace swept out of the house with the youngest on a mission to collect my frizzle. He is my hero. Two hours later, my youngest called me to say that my frizzle and a new white hen were on their way home. I might have danced around the kitchen at this point, but to be honest I can't remember. I eagerly awaited their return, and at long last they pulled in to the drive. I rushed out to catch my first glimpse.

I fell in love at first sight. My black pekin frizzle will henceforth be known as Gladys, and her white smooth feathered pal has been named Hilda by the youngest. They are absolutely gorgeous. Within minutes of being introduced in to their new home, they were exploring and eating out of our hands. They are marvellously friendly. Gladys is pleasingly scruffy, and as soft as a feather duster. Hilda is so white she hurts your eyes, although I suspect that over the coming winter months that will be rectified.

I am over the moon.

Moving Day

Right now, at this moment, I have eleven chickens secreted about the place. By the end of the day, I should have only six or seven. Yes, today the silkies are going to their new home, and taking a boy chick with them. The lavender lad, aka the marvellously inappropriate 'Penelope', is moving out at the tender age of five weeks. Just before he leaves home, though, the black frizzle will be tripping off to his new home in the Derbyshire peaks, where he will no doubt rule the roost and have a brilliant time. That leaves me with just the little black chick.

The straight feathered black chap was the first to hatch, and up until just two weeks ago showed all the signs of being a girl. (Mind you, so did the lavender. It appears that feather sexing is not the most reliable way of sexing baby pekins). I had a suspicion that the black lad would be the hardest to rehome. He doesn't have the wow factor of the exploding frizzle, and he isn't the appealing colour of the lavender (who I suspect will be truly stunning as an adult). However, I shall persevere. Just this morning, I recieved an email in response to an ad asking if I still had any pekin cockerels. I have replied, bigging up the little dude, so here's hoping.

The timing of all this moving out is particularly fortuitous. Tomorrow, the amazing ever tolerant husband will drive me nearly ninety miles to the pekin breeder, where I will finally get my mitts on a pekin frizzle. She is eleven weeks old, and black, and definitely a girl! The youngest is allowed to pick her a straight feathered friend, so expect pics early next week. I am super excited, and the knowledge that I will soon have chicks I can keep is keeping me chipper for the inevitable sadness of saying goodbye to the peeps.

It's all go.

Maeve Bounces Back

I'm very pleased to report that Maeve seems none the worse for wear after her exorcist moment. When I checked her crop the next morning, it was empty but slightly stretched. I fed her some sloppy pellet porridge for breakfast, which she devoured, and then kept an eye on her for the rest of the morning. When I saw her produce a particularly large poo, I knew that her crop must be emptying. With relief, I let her out with the others. She strutted from the coop, ruffled her feathers, and growled at me. Giving me the evil eye, she waltzed off in to the shrubbery. No doubt if she had fingers, she'd have been making some very interesting signs with them. Ungrateful cow. I've watched her closely, and she is back to her usual, narky self. Bless her.

I have advertised the peeps as free to a good home. Every day, I hope that the phone will ring and that the person on the end will have a burning need for a boy chicken to keep their girls company. Of course, this person will also live on a lovely smallholding, which will be a sort of chicken paradise. The chosen cockerel will live a long, disease free life, and email me weekly. As far fetched as this sounds, I have in fact found just such a home for the silkies.

Yes, the silkies are heading for pastures new. I have mixed feelings to be honest. I am glad that they are going to such a wonderful home, and also that I will still get to hear how they're doing from time to time. Yet I feel awful, crushing guilt about rehoming them at all. The thought of having to give up any of my other girls makes me feel slightly nauseaous, though, so I know that my own sense of failure should not stop me doing right by the fluffy ones. Hopefully their new owner will adore them the way that they deserve to be adored, rather than finding them vaguely baffling.

On a more positive note, I'd like to announce that I have today ordered two new pekin ladies. At least one will be frizzled. I'll have to wait a few weeks before my new girls will be ready, so I have time to find the peeps their new accomodation.

Wish me luck.

All Change

Things are changing in the Palace. After a year of silkie ownership, I have to finally confess to not being that keen. I have tried to find the silkie sisters endearing, or sweet, or charming, but it's not happening. They are either broody (which is fair enough), or running laps around the garden squawking their heads off and sounding like deranged turkeys (which isn't). The pekins have always stayed somewhat aloof from the manic feather dusters, and I have made my decision. Kiki and Margot are being rehomed.

I think the main problem is that I adore my pekins. I love the way they stand barely 6 inches tall, yet have the self importance of an ostrich. I admire their feisty, narky attitude. Watching them waddle about the garden at high speed after a tasty bug makes me smile. The haughty expression on their faces if I catch them in the greenhouse endears them to me each and every time (the vandals). The fact that Maeve (aka ASBO chicken) openly growls at me, who must look like a giant to her, if I dare to block out her light when she's sunbathing is, quite frankly, brilliant. In short, I have found my poultry best fit. And it is a small bird with a ginormous personality.

In comparison, the silkies seem rather dim. Actually, that's me being generous. They are skittish, highly strung and prone to screaming fits for no apparent reason. I can't detect any discernable personalities. To be fair, this is probably because they have spent a great deal of time pancaked in the nest box. However, they have never really calmed down to the human presence. They panic if the children go outside to play, unlike the majestic pekins who stroll away nonchalantly when a football comes barrelling towards them. Indeed, the pekins have even been known to tolerate rides on skateboards, or being carted around the garden by the youngest while he prattles away about bakugan. All has been tolerated with dignity. The silkies don't enjoy this attention at all.

So, I have advertised the silkies for sale. With any luck, they will be rehomed with someone who can make use of their broody abilities and who truly loves the breed. They will go together, and although the youngest is a bit put out (Kiki is officially his bird), I think that the neighbours will throw a party.

In other rehoming news, the peeps have all been confirmed as boys. I have also advertised them, and hope that I can manage to find them all homes before they commence doodling. They come off heat this week, so hopefully there are three new homes waiting with harems for my chaps. I am visiting them at a bare minimum, and hope that it won't be too heart wrenching to see them go.

I won't be hatching any more this year, if at all. If I decide to replace the silkies (who am I kidding? If?) I am hoping to source some young females. I will allow the youngest to pick one, as his new hen. Secretly, he still hankers after Belinda, and I hope that I can find him a suitable replacement.

I am still hoping for a frizzle.

Digging For Victory

The Chook Palace has been successfully relocated. In the end, we had to call in the services of our lovely drummer neighbour to help move it. My assertion that I could lift it turned out to be, frankly, wrong. Like any self respecting Palace, it weighs a ton (If not literally, it's not far off).

Now that its reached its final resting place, I can begin to landscape around it. I would love to plant swathes of beautiful flowers, but the pragmatist in me knows that what I really need are unappatising, chicken proof shrubs. The chooks have taken the move well, and even obliged by putting themselves to bed last night like sensible hens. Partly, this might be down to the fact that it is absolutely freezing here again. I peeked in to the sleeping area to find all six pekins huddled together, the chooklets sensibly putting the fearsome Mabel between themselves and the social climbing Maeve. The silkies were a mass of fur in the nest box, and at some point I will be addressing this bad habit.

In digging out the flower bed to make a flat base for the Palace, the ever tolerant husband has created a large pile of earth. This needs to be moved, and I managed to distribute four wheel barrow loads last night before my back threw a tantrum and stubbornly refused to haul any more. The hens are in raptures. Its a veritable smorgasboard of squirmy things, and they are gorging themselves. Indeed, Maude has gotten a little carried away, and managed to dig herself a crater. All that can be seen from this side of the mound is a fine spray of earth being furiously thrown up and behind her ample rear end. Occassionally, a hapless hen wanders past and gets a faceful of dirt. The protestations can be heard from the house.

Kiki is broody, so ignoring all of the activity. I turfed her out while the Palace was moved, and she diligently kept pace with it as it was transported up the garden. As soon as it was landed, she sprinted back up to her nest box. I imagine that when she finally wakes up from her maternal spell, she'll look about her at the cavernous Palace and go 'Huh?! Where am I?!'.

Something, while up to my elbows in chicken poo, I often ask myself.

The Chook Palace Has Arrived!!!

So, the day has finally come. The magnificent Chook Palace has finally arrived. After months of researching, planning, umming and aahing, and wheedling, my ladies have their posh pad. I have to say, I am rather pleased with it.

I had planned on moving the girls in immediately, but it is still a bit wet from its dip in a large vat of creosote substitute. Therefore, unless it dries out really quickly today, it'll be tomorrow before my girls can officially take up residence. They are studiously ignoring it at the moment, although I suspect that Maeve's curiosity will get the better of her before long.

In other news, I managed to wedge the pop hole well and truly shut last night, so we were not woken by the squawking silkies. They have won themselves a brief reprieve. I trekked around to all the neighbours yesterday, issuing heartfelt apologies and boxes of eggs in equal measure. Hopefully, this damage limitation means that there will be no official complaints.

I am dying to decorate the new Convent.

Is The End Nigh?

Kiki woke the ever tolerant husband up at 5.15 this morning. He in turn woke me up, and I dragged myself down to the coop in a semi conscious state. I asked the ever tolerant husband to shut the pop hole last night, but he obviously was unaware of the silkies house breaking abilities. If the door is even slightly ajar, they use their beaks as a crow bar and escape. Hence the dawn shrieking.

I eyeballed the gobby hen. She looked back at me. I grabbed her and stuffed her unceremoniously back in to the coop, firmly closing the door. Returning to bed, I had a lovely two hours of lying anxiously, awaiting an understandably furious neighbour at the door. No knock came, but this cannot continue.

With a heavy heart, I informed our youngest child that the silkies might have to be rehomed. Many tears followed. The new chook palace is coming tomorrow, and this has put a dampener on it. When the pop hole is securely closed, the Convent is pitch black inside. This keeps the girls sleeping. The new house is well vented, which means that there will be more internal light. My fear is that the silkies might take up singing and dancing even when confined. And dawn is, well, dawning ever earlier.

This morning, I was adament that the gobby duo would have to leave. However, in the bright sunshine, watching them sunbathe with the rest of the flock, I have my doubts. The early morning serenades only began when the coop was moved on to the grass for the patio work to be completed. I suppose its feasible that once installed in the new coop, they will settle. Hmmm.

Rehoming the silkies will be awful. Yet not as awful as the penny dropping with the ever tolerant husband that if the flock shrinks by two, the chook palace becomes unnecessary. Oh dear.

A Difficult Job For The Boss

Its tough being top hen. The responsibility falls to you to align the pecking order, and keep everyone in check. When a member of your flock goes off to that great chicken coop in the sky, there is re-ordering to be done. If there was a cockerel about, he would do a lot of this work for you. However, the Convent is a chicken-bloke free zone, so all of this falls to Mabel.

Mabel is a brilliant top hen. She has just the right balance between benign care of her charges, and aggressive discipline. The others (perhaps with the exception of the social climbing Maeve) seem to respect her position, and heed her warnings. It would be over sentimental to say that the hens are missing Mini, but they are definitely aware that the position of bottom hen is now vacant. Everyone is keen for this place not to be filled by themselves.

So, today, there is a lot of pecking going on. The lower hens are sneaking up on each other and attempting to deliver a swift dig to the top of their opponents head. If the opponent wants to keep their position in the flock, they won't back down. A surprise attack often results in a surprised squawking and waddling away in to the shrubbery, though, and instantly the victim finds herself below her attacker in the social structure.

This process of re-jigging is always stressful for both the birds and anxious keeper. This squabbling can quickly escalate in to all out warfare, so I am very glad that Mabel is taking charge. Everyone but Maude is being squashed to the floor, as she asserts her dominance. No one is hurt in this display, but the squashed hen always looks a little sheepish afterwards.

The silkies pose a problem to Mabel. As the last members of the flock to be integrated, they are the most logical choice for the bottom two. They don't appear to hold ambitions of flock domination themselves, so should be easy targets. The problem is, they have long, road-runner-style legs, and can out run even a flat out pekin waddle. Mabel can't catch them. On the odd occassion that she does, she can't jump up on to their backs. They simply stand still, with their head to one side, and watch the demented ball of feathers bouncing next to them. This makes Mabel look ridiculous, but is hilarious to watch.

Mabel has apparently been working on this issue. This morning, while watching the girls in the garden, I noticed that she was stood on the rim of a large plant pot. Her stillness was odd, so it caught my attention. The others mooched around, plotting head pecking and looking nonchalent. As Margot ambled closer to Mabel's plant pot, Mabel assumed a take off position. Clever girl, thought I, as Mabel launched herself at the now-in-range Margot. With a startled 'Bok-ARK!', Margot was flattened. Mabel pinned her for a few seconds, and then dismounted her underling. She strolled off with a satisfied swagger, with the other hens as an audience. Kiki approached her stunned sister, still splatted in to the mud. Margot shook herself and stood up, and the two silkies began a low chuntering, no doubt discussing this new development.

Mabel reigns supreme.