High jinks in the hen house

We have two new chickens. The old girls are getting a little lazy in the laying department, and with winter coming, we want to ensure a steady supply of eggs. The old girls are over two years old, and lay 8-10 eggs a week. They used to lay every day, and as we supply Dad with eggs, this just isn't enough, especially if I bake at the weekends.

So off we went to Surrey Poultry, armed with the old cat box, to catch ourselves a couple of point-of-lay chickens, around 18 weeks old. We hadn't realised just how small they were next to the older hens. We were warned about the pecking order and monitored the introductions. The new girls seemed very happy, eating and drinking, although watching out for the old girls, with their large, fierce-looking red waffles and combs.

The days are fine, amicable. Every hen gets enough to eat and drink. The old girls are showing the young ones how it is done with respect to egg-laying. I don't think it will be long before Bluebelle lays her first egg.

Bluebelle exploring her new home

Bluebelle

Speckled Maran

Old girls, Specky and Ginger - plotting

The Boxer dogs have been intrigued by the new arrivals, perhaps a little too interested for my liking. Nevertheless, it is mostly harmless. We call it 'two new channels of Boxer dog TV'.

Roosting time is a different story, however. The roosting instinct is strong, even in domestic chickens. Come sundown, the hens form an orderly queue, up the ladder into the hen house. So far, so good. Then, the large speckled Maran starts to peck the young ones. First Bluebelle, then the Copper Black come flying back out the house. Bluebelle had a close encounter with two Boxer dogs on the first night, and now stands her ground. Blackie has taken to leaping/flying up to the roof of the house, even with clipped wings. Of course, it is safe there, but hardly warm or dry. She has also been on the receiving end of curious Boxer dog noses, but still seems to prefer to take her chances rather than sleep in the hen house with Specky. 

So we now have an evening ritual. The big dog barks to let me know that the black chicken is on the roof. I throw a towel over her, and gently put her back in the house. I reprimand Specky when she tries to peck Blacky. I close the door, making it dark. All is quiet, until first light.

I'm hoping that things will settle down, although it is almost two weeks since the new arrivals, and it is exhausting being on chicken duty at dusk and dawn. Any tips, chicken-people?

Like this? Then see my other blog at Surrey Life magazine.

Photography by Lesley Beeton

The chicken whisperer ~ updated

Since early December, one or other of the hens has had issues. Ginger has dreams of going over the fence, and is a lazy layer at best. Specky, the best layer, had a long and traumatic moult, which almost saw Mr B send her to the other side. Thankfully, he didn't and my perseverance has paid off. She is a lovely hen, back to her laying best. Now Blackie is not doing well. She isn't in a full moult, nor is she at death's door. She is responsive, eating and drinking, but she looks very straggly. And hasn't laid in weeks. She reminds me of Sprout, in 'The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly' by Sun-mi Hwang. And her life didn't end well.

Fast pecking of raspberries.
Blink, and it's gone

Don't think I'm crazy, but I talk to the hens. I am The Chicken Whisperer. Croo-croo, chook, chook, chookie. The Boxer dogs stand at the fence and watch, waiting for the slightest sign that the hens are a danger to me, whereupon they would most likely pounce. Up until now, their concerns have been unfounded.

But along with the moth-eaten appearance of Blackie, there seems to be rather a lot of wing flapping and shrieking in the hen house. Quite frankly, they don't like it that I have withdrawn all treats except corn and high-quality cabbage leaves. I'm convinced that good food, fresh water and a clean environment will bring them back to their full glory.

Well, they'd better, because Mr B has secretly renamed them Roast, Fried and Kiev.

Update: Sadly, Blackie died last week. Natural causes, although she had been unwell. It seems that hens like her, bred to lay a lot of eggs, often develop nasty tumours and other pathologies, which just cannot be treated. She seemed to rally for a few days, then went rapidly downhill on Friday. She was a super-friendly hen to the end, and is missed for her cheerful attitude. The other hens are doing well x.

The calm before the storm

View from the office

What a pleasure. It's 9am on a Tuesday morning, and because of my judicious planning and hard work ethic, I seem to have finished the office tasks for the day already. So, what to do next?

BriniZozi zzzzzz

The Boxers have gone back to bed. They had a lovely run over the farm with Mr B. The hens are scratching away. I have chard stalks for them later. What a treat. They really are enjoying the abundance of the neighbours' veggie gardens.

All is quiet in the garden of Shackleford.

In my own garden, the step ladder up the greengage tree marks the start of fruit harvest, the race against the squirrels, pigeons and wasps. So far, we are winning. But as Mr B is afraid of heights, it is a bit more difficult than last year. The tree will need a hard prune in the autumn, to keep it healthy and fruiting.

The broad beans, potatoes and French beans have all been eaten. The perpetual spinach survived the heatwave and goes on and on and on ...

We are still enjoying the celery. Please remind me not to plant so much celery next year.

And the runner beans are glorious. 

It's a wonderful summer.

But it's all about to end rather abruptly next week. The last stage of the kitchen project starts. The good phase, well bad phase first, then good phase. Hooray! Still half a dozen of so men doing boring stuff like electrics, plumbing and tiling. My patience is being tested.

And then, the new kitchen will emerge, like a beautiful butterfly from its chrysalis.

It's the calm before the storm, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.

Photography by Lesley Beeton

Don't forget to keep up to date with events at Farncombe Day Centre and all the news in Shackleford village.

Do your hens like a game?

I never realised that chickens have a wicked sense of humour. Or that they could bond with a human. My girls have taught me something. Especially Ginger. She has decided that the game is to 'help' with cleaning out the hen house in the morning. Obviously, the more she squawks and stamps her feet, the faster I will work.

And just when I think she's lost interest, she hops onto the ledge above the nest box, with a look of intent on her face. 'Stop what you are doing, or I will jump'!

So of course I do stop and pick her up. And then she gets a bit of porridge. Not just a pretty face after all :-)

The hennie-pennies

 

This is (mainly) a hen update. The hennie-pennies have been with us for 6 weeks now, and I love them. We did have a rocky patch when Specky decided to pluck the bottom feathers of Blackie and Ginger, but I have put a stop to that!

Hens enjoying the early morning sunshine through the trees

They are now turning over the veggie patch for me, doing a fine job at getting the runner bean plants out. They have such an appetite for greens, I have arranged to get a bag of cabbage and lettuce leaves from the council kitchen at the end of each week.

They do love a bit of corn in the afternoon. It fills their crops before bedtime and keeps them warm during the cold nights. I am a bit puzzled though to find an egg first thing in the morning - I can't decide if it was laid the night before or just earlier in the morning. 

Specky's eggs are amazing - at least one double-yolker a week. And just look at the size of it!

In other news, all is well in Shackleford. Brin the Boxer is a happy boy and Mr B is back on the treadmill. And while he was sorting out the wood pile at the weekend, I went to a Christmas market and bought a few things.... More on those in a later post.

Photography by Lesley Beeton.

My week as a ....

I was all things to all people last week. Mummy to Brin the Boxer, corn feeder to the hens, Dad's manager, Mr B's soother, a friend, tweeter and blogger. Over the weekend, I was also the wood weasel and the electric fence weasel. That means I had to sit on the ground passing things to Mr B while he did important garden chores. 

This morning I was hedgehog rescuer. I don't mind rescuing hedgehogs, except that this little fellow had walked into the anti-fox electric hen-fence and it was shorting out through his body in pulses. I could see his body twitching with each pulse. I held a towel over his body and moved him back into the woods. He is fine, just a bit *shocked*.

I do have to laugh at the jobs I do in a day, in between my real job. Who would have thought that having a PhD in molecular biology would lead to such a varied work-life? So when work gets tedious, I know that I can jump up and go for a walk, or feed the chickens, or plant the bulbs, or dig up the veggie patch. Or just sit and watch the birds, or photograph the flowers.

I'm not complaining, quite the contrary. I'm tired when my head hits the pillow at night, but that's happy tired. Tired from having made a difference, tired from having made progress, tired from having made friends, tired from doing the things I love.

Introducing the girls

These lovely ladies came to live with us last weekend. I love their gentle croo, croo and their silky bodies. We're still getting to know each other and so far no eggs, but they seem to be enjoying the free range.

 

  Brin is keeping them company, and they don't seem to mind him at all.

I've lost my husband to the chicken house

Hopefully it won't be a permanent arrangement. But for now, his project Chicken Palace is keeping him busy at the bottom of the garden. My other theory is that he is actually hiding away down there, listening to the cricket. Summer days!

Look out for my garden diary guest post on Christmas Pie Crafts - coming soon. And remember that Jill always welcomes guest bloggers (on all subjects) to her Friday blog slot. Don't be shy, get in touch with Jill, and meet some new bloggers.