Mabel, my mighty top hen, post makeover.
Cyclops chicken!
Mini, with her bulging eye just visible.
Margot in the snow.
This chook is well 'ard!
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
Chooks In The Snow
Mabel, my mighty top hen, post makeover.
Cyclops chicken!
Mini, with her bulging eye just visible.
Margot in the snow.
This chook is well 'ard!
Monday, 4 January 2010
Ice Breaking
The cold snap lingers here in the midlands. With the temperature barely creeping above freezing during the day, I'm not seeing a lot of my girls. Most of the time they are huddled together in the coop, apart from Margot who tends to lay her egg and then do victory laps around the garden. I have gone back to shutting the pop hole at night in a bid to trap some heat. This means that as soon as I get up, I have to head out into the blizzardy wilderness to let the girls get to their breakfast. Certainly wakes you up.
Several times a day I have to defrost the drinker. Not that the chooks are drinking much in these temperatures. I also have to chip their pellets free from the feeder. It's only a matter of time before I have to go and peel frozen talons from perches at this rate. On the plus side, frozen poo is much easier to clean up.
I have been watching Mini now for months, and decided to interfere a bit more today. Clamping the filthy hen under my arm, I examined her bulging eye. The cyst has well and truly taken hold now, and after I prodded and poked at it a bit, Mini screeched at me and pooed down my coat. I think her meaning was clear. I had some notion that if I cleaned her eye up a bit she'd be more comfortable. Obviously, I was very much mistaken. Released from armpit captivity, she sauntered off, glaring at me over her shoulder with her waft eye. Then it occurred to me. She was not looking at me out of her bad eye at all, she was using her good eye to see where she was going.
I am now the proud owner of a cyclops chicken.
Several times a day I have to defrost the drinker. Not that the chooks are drinking much in these temperatures. I also have to chip their pellets free from the feeder. It's only a matter of time before I have to go and peel frozen talons from perches at this rate. On the plus side, frozen poo is much easier to clean up.
I have been watching Mini now for months, and decided to interfere a bit more today. Clamping the filthy hen under my arm, I examined her bulging eye. The cyst has well and truly taken hold now, and after I prodded and poked at it a bit, Mini screeched at me and pooed down my coat. I think her meaning was clear. I had some notion that if I cleaned her eye up a bit she'd be more comfortable. Obviously, I was very much mistaken. Released from armpit captivity, she sauntered off, glaring at me over her shoulder with her waft eye. Then it occurred to me. She was not looking at me out of her bad eye at all, she was using her good eye to see where she was going.
I am now the proud owner of a cyclops chicken.
Saturday, 2 January 2010
The Big Chill
Perhaps not unusually for January, it is absolutely freezing outside. The ground barely gets a chance to thaw before the night descends again, and with it plummeting temperatures. According to the weather reports, for the next week we can expect night time lows of up to -7 degrees Celsius. Brrrr. Now, that's one thing if you're a human with lovely central heating, fleecy pyjamas and an ever tolerant husband to make you tea. It is quite another if you are a small, short legged chicken.
The girls are deeply unimpressed with the current conditions. They hop from one short leg to the other across the lawn, muttering at the cold. They huddle against the back door, looking in at the warm kitchen, layering on the human guilt. Chickens are not very good at looking beseeching (no movable eyelids/eyebrows), but they are exceptionally good at giving you a look which says 'You in there! Yes! You! You with your radiators! You disgust us!'. They often follow up this look with a large poo, right outside the door. Chickens are vengeful creatures.
In an attempt to keep them warm, I purchased a large plastic tarpaulin. The idea being, that I could enclose the Convent and run, so that the bedding would stay dry and the wind would be kept out. If there's something that chickens hate more than damp, it's a draught. I battled valiantly with the enormous sheet of plastic while the chooks looked on. It took quite some effort in the not inconsiderable wind to get it anchored down. The ladies watched all of this from the garden bench, where they sat, muttering and giving me the beady eye.
At last, the tarpaulin was in place. I was quite pleased with the result (and fairly philosophical about the amount of poo/mud which the damn thing had splatted up against me when the wind decided that what really needed wrapping in a plastic sheet, was me). Throwing some corn into the run, I stood back to allow the girls access.
They were having none of it. My redesign of their living space did not meet their approval in any way. Even Maeve, the bravest, fiercest hen who has ever lived (probably) wouldn't get closer than about three metres. Every so often, the wind would rustle the plastic, and much chuntering by the hens would ensue. In fact, they not only seemed dubious, but also actually affronted. I decided it was far too cold for all this carry on, and manually stuffed small hens into the coop. Generally, the girls are used to more dignified treatment, and were shocked into compliance.
Ungrateful little madams.
The girls are deeply unimpressed with the current conditions. They hop from one short leg to the other across the lawn, muttering at the cold. They huddle against the back door, looking in at the warm kitchen, layering on the human guilt. Chickens are not very good at looking beseeching (no movable eyelids/eyebrows), but they are exceptionally good at giving you a look which says 'You in there! Yes! You! You with your radiators! You disgust us!'. They often follow up this look with a large poo, right outside the door. Chickens are vengeful creatures.
In an attempt to keep them warm, I purchased a large plastic tarpaulin. The idea being, that I could enclose the Convent and run, so that the bedding would stay dry and the wind would be kept out. If there's something that chickens hate more than damp, it's a draught. I battled valiantly with the enormous sheet of plastic while the chooks looked on. It took quite some effort in the not inconsiderable wind to get it anchored down. The ladies watched all of this from the garden bench, where they sat, muttering and giving me the beady eye.
At last, the tarpaulin was in place. I was quite pleased with the result (and fairly philosophical about the amount of poo/mud which the damn thing had splatted up against me when the wind decided that what really needed wrapping in a plastic sheet, was me). Throwing some corn into the run, I stood back to allow the girls access.
They were having none of it. My redesign of their living space did not meet their approval in any way. Even Maeve, the bravest, fiercest hen who has ever lived (probably) wouldn't get closer than about three metres. Every so often, the wind would rustle the plastic, and much chuntering by the hens would ensue. In fact, they not only seemed dubious, but also actually affronted. I decided it was far too cold for all this carry on, and manually stuffed small hens into the coop. Generally, the girls are used to more dignified treatment, and were shocked into compliance.
Ungrateful little madams.
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