Something has happened which could have serious implications for the flock. My top hen, Mabel, has gone broody. A broody hen is not interested in keeping order, or even her own position within the group. I suspect that Maeve will make a move any day now.
In order to try and keep the status quo, I have broody caged Mabel in the Convent's run, where she is highly visible. For now, they are all behaving themselves, but I keep finding Maeve sat next to the cage, peering in at the pancaked Mabel. She appears to be weighing up this new development, and considering her options. I think that Maude would try to defend the top hen spot, and keep it warm for Mabel, but it really depends on how long it takes to break Mabel's brood.
I think that a flock ruled by Maeve would be an unhappy flock. She has a despot manner, and benefits hugely from being disciplined by the older hens. As she matures, I'm hoping that her general pushiness will decrease, and then she might well make a marvellous boss chicken. Until then, I'll continue to desperately hope that Mabel snaps out of it quickly and gets back to squashing the others periodically.
This period of unrest has led to some fairly unpleasant behaviour from my usually gentle girls. I found a toad, minus one of it's back legs, on the lawn. Horribly, it was very much alive. I gingerly picked it up and returned it to the damp end of the border, and can only hope for the best. The hens were all busy looking innocent, but I have my suspicions.
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
Sunday, 6 September 2009
Flying The Coop
After months of careful persuasion by yours truly, the ever tolerant husband has agreed to move house. Principally, this is so that the humans have more room. Naturally, there is also another, more chicken oriented, furtive reason.
I dream of a bigger garden, with a designated chicken area, and a walk in run. Of course, this chicken mansion will be far too big for my girls, so I will feel obliged to add a few more. Ahem. My sneaky plan involves hatching a few eggs of my own, and selling the extra youngsters. In this way, I will aquire my much coveted frizzle pekin. If the garden is big enough, I might even aquire a serama cockerel and a couple of hens. Serama are the worlds smallest chickens, and a serama cockeral crowing sounds much like a cat feeling amorous. I have many, many plans.
All of which has to wait until the frankly tedious business of selling our own house has been achieved. With steely determination, the ever tolerant husband and I set about regaining control of the garden from the feathered marauders. We cut, hacked, mowed and swept until the back garden looked, well, wonderful. The hens watched all this activity from various dustbaths which they have rather inconsiderately made all over the garden. I emptied the greenhouse of all the spent tomato plants and scraped rather a lot of chicken poo from the path. At last, we were finished.
We sat in the kitchen and surveyed our handiwork, pleased with the results. The hens gradually emerged from various hhiding places, and convined on the lawn. The pekins muttered amongst themselves, keeping one eye on us through the french doors, obviously trying to work out what all of this tidying meant, and whether it would mean good things for them. The silkies shot out from under cover of the rhododendron bush, and threw themselves full force against the greenhouse door. Which was shut. Shaking the impact off, Kiki once again attempted to walk through solid glass.
Definitely not the brightest bulbs.
I dream of a bigger garden, with a designated chicken area, and a walk in run. Of course, this chicken mansion will be far too big for my girls, so I will feel obliged to add a few more. Ahem. My sneaky plan involves hatching a few eggs of my own, and selling the extra youngsters. In this way, I will aquire my much coveted frizzle pekin. If the garden is big enough, I might even aquire a serama cockerel and a couple of hens. Serama are the worlds smallest chickens, and a serama cockeral crowing sounds much like a cat feeling amorous. I have many, many plans.
All of which has to wait until the frankly tedious business of selling our own house has been achieved. With steely determination, the ever tolerant husband and I set about regaining control of the garden from the feathered marauders. We cut, hacked, mowed and swept until the back garden looked, well, wonderful. The hens watched all this activity from various dustbaths which they have rather inconsiderately made all over the garden. I emptied the greenhouse of all the spent tomato plants and scraped rather a lot of chicken poo from the path. At last, we were finished.
We sat in the kitchen and surveyed our handiwork, pleased with the results. The hens gradually emerged from various hhiding places, and convined on the lawn. The pekins muttered amongst themselves, keeping one eye on us through the french doors, obviously trying to work out what all of this tidying meant, and whether it would mean good things for them. The silkies shot out from under cover of the rhododendron bush, and threw themselves full force against the greenhouse door. Which was shut. Shaking the impact off, Kiki once again attempted to walk through solid glass.
Definitely not the brightest bulbs.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
Oh, The Glamour!
The silkies are still free ranging with the pekins, unharrassed. Mabel occasionally watches them as if deliberating their chickenness, but after a bit waddles off to eat something. The new girls have the flock completely befuddled. For their part, Margot and Kiki are content to accidentally frighten each other, and then hare round the garden like road runner. Or, they scramble into the greenhouse and throw compost everywhere. Either activity keeps them happy for hours.
Much as their appearance implies, they appear to have the brains of a toilet brush. When it rains, the pekins cock their heads to one side, mutter a bit, then run into the convent. The silkies meep (another road runner trait), run around in circles in the middle of the lawn, or stand still and drip. After two weeks of letting them in and out of their coop, I've accepted the fact that they are just not bright enough to learn to do it themselves. I now suspect that the silkie's friendly reputation is mainly down to the fact that they're too dippy to run away.
It came to my attention that Mini and Doris had some matted feathering near their vent, so the most glamorous aspect of keeping chooks fell to me again. Holding a pair of scissors in one hand, and a firmly stuck poo ball in the other, I gave the ladies a nether region trim. They are not grateful, and now look a tad bald.
Much as their appearance implies, they appear to have the brains of a toilet brush. When it rains, the pekins cock their heads to one side, mutter a bit, then run into the convent. The silkies meep (another road runner trait), run around in circles in the middle of the lawn, or stand still and drip. After two weeks of letting them in and out of their coop, I've accepted the fact that they are just not bright enough to learn to do it themselves. I now suspect that the silkie's friendly reputation is mainly down to the fact that they're too dippy to run away.
It came to my attention that Mini and Doris had some matted feathering near their vent, so the most glamorous aspect of keeping chooks fell to me again. Holding a pair of scissors in one hand, and a firmly stuck poo ball in the other, I gave the ladies a nether region trim. They are not grateful, and now look a tad bald.
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