With a heavy burst of rain over the weekend, we said goodbye to the snow. The temperature has risen considerably, too. The chooks are most pleased.
When I first opened the run up, they remained suspicious. With a bit of gently coaxing, they stepped over the threshhold and realised that the horrid white stuff really had had the decency to leave. There then followed a rather undignified bundle for the warm area on the decking. Naturally, Mabel duffed everyone up and won the choicest spot.
So, back to our normal routine, then. The girls are once again marauding around the garden, kicking stones on to the lawn and digging up spring flowering bulbs. In fact, if they could swig out of cider bottles and swear elaborately, you would see the resemblance to bored teenagers. There is the occassional squawk of protest as one of the lower pecking order hens gets a mean spirited peck from one of the upper echelons. They seem rather disgruntled.
At the moment of typing, not one of the free-loading feather-bags is laying, and I'm wondering whether the anticipation of pecking order shake-ups is leading to this mild animosity. Kiki has decided that being broody in january is a bit daft, frankly, so is back in the running. Maeve is still in the middle of a moult, and resembles a rather worse for wear vulture. She is defending her flock position, and the Silkies and Mini are bearing the brunt of her displeasure.
It's unlikely, but I'm secretly hoping that Mini will become a laying power house, and ascend to the perch.
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