Tiny Chickens Rock

I have been to Worcester today to pick up my Valentine's day present from the ever tolerant husband. Now, can you say 'awwwwwwww'?

Introducing Betsy, a 7 month old serama hen already in lay.

Betsy and her pal Vera, a 4 month old serama pullet.

You can see some slight cockerel damage to Vera's wing here, and also the ever tolerant husband's foot.

Tiny ladies with attitude.

And fluffy bums.

I have tried my hardest to get a pic of them in profile, but they won't have it. They are far more interested in eating toast crumbs off the rug. Neither are show quality serama, but I think they are little beauties.

I am not quite sure what the pekins will think.

A Serama Encounter

I have finally met some serama. A local breeder was kind enough to introduce me to her breeding flock, and I am very impressed. In the flesh, they are no bigger than quail and really rather bold. No mad skittishness or cowering. In fact, one particularly feisty little chap took on one of the ever tolerant husband's shoes.

He was doing his very best 'Yeah, come on then! I am well 'ard! I'll have your ankles!' dance. His little chest was puffed, his hackles raised and his tail erect. As he strutted about our feet and charged at the ever tolerant husband, we all went 'aahhhhhh!'. I very much doubt that was the effect he was going for. I felt rather sorry for him to be honest. No more than six inches high, he was really giving it some and doing his upmost to be terrifying. After a few passes, he realised we weren't going to run fleeing from his mighty wrath and got rather disheartened. Slowly, he lowered his tail and hackles and sloped off back to his wives who were watching his humiliation. The breeder informed us that her huge doberman is terrified of the little cockerel, so at least he gets to put the fear of God in to something.

Predictably, the showy males are the most eye catching. They raise and fan out their tails in a way that reminds me of, simultaneously, peacocks and flamenco dancers. The females are less extravagant. However, they are neat little birds, with pretty heads and tiny little feet. All in all, they are quite a dainty breed. The size varies a fair bit, and apparently they don't breed true in colour or size. A few boys let loose with a fairly pathetic crow while we stood chatting which was interesting (and made me wonder....). However, as we were leaving one of the tiniest males let rip with a voice that was humourously out of synch with his diminuitive stature. Of course, there is no way of knowing just how loud, or how persistent, a cockerel might be until he's in situ. So for now, a male is out.

On saturday, I am heading to Worcester to see some available pullets.

February Dawns

At last, the dreaded January is banished from the calender. Hoorah! As we greet February, the snowdrops and crocuses are beginning to slowly emerge. At least they are this year, because they are safely ensconsed behing the Barrier. The hens can only eye them with longing, instead of scoffing them with abandon. Ha! In your chickenny faces, ladies!

The hens are still playing by the new rules when it comes to the border. I am, frankly, surprised. Usually they find a way around any obstacles pretty quickly. I can only assume that they are content to lull me in to a false sense of security. No doubt as soon as the border is erupting in to colour, they will break in and rampage around like a load of drunken students, demolishing all plant life in their path. No matter. For now, I am happy to imagine that this might work.

Spring is a strange thing in the chicken kingdom. While I can see spring on the horizon, I'm not expecting it's arrival for a few months yet. The chooks sense it is much closer. Hilda and Gladys have begun crouching, and their first eggs are imminent. At the moment, it's still only Purdy in lay, but any day now I expect her to have company. Combs are reddening up, the odd scuffle is breaking out and Doris is once again doing her deeply annoying baby seagull impression. Seriously, when I think about how I wouldn't dream of inflicting a cockerel on my neighbours, I can't quite believe that no-one has reached over the fence and stuffed Doris in a casserole dish. That hen can be shrill.

Over the winter, the pecking order stays static. There is little in the way of dominance displays, and Mabel very much retreats in to the general flock. But as soon as the days start lengthening, she feels the need to knock the flock in to shape. Many startled hens have been happily minding their own business only to be flattened to the floor by our Illustrious Leader. She is coming up to 3 years old, and is showing no signs of giving up her throne.

Maeve is watching the two youngest flock members keenly. Gladys seems quite content to stay near the bottom of the flock and does her best to avoid confrontation. She isn't bullied in any way, and is obviously a quiet character. The same cannot be said for Hilda. Hilda has decided that she likes the look of the upper echelons of chicken society. Purdy, Celia and Doris have all been challenged, and I can see her sizing up the world famous ASBO Chicken.

I am watching this with trepidation. Maeve is biding her time, and ignores the young upstart unless she sashays past a little too close. A well aimed hiss tends to make her sashay faster, but she doesn't break out in to a full blown waddle. This displeases Maeve. I suspect that any day now, Hilda will launch a full assault. Indeed, sometimes when Maeve is eating Hilda has the metaphorical balls to stand next to her and eat like her equal. This is currently being tolerated, which makes me distinctly nervous. I only hope that when Maeve eventually loses her patience she leaves the younger hen enough feathers to keep her warm for the rest of the winter.

I might end up fashioning a chicken jumpsuit.