This is my blog about the day to day lives of my little flock of pet chickens. They're a happy little flock, although they're totally crackers! If you want a laugh, they'll gladly give you one.


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Thursday, 5 January 2012

In and out, out and in

It was another very wet day yesterday and the chickens were less than impressed by it all.  When the weather's foul, the fowl congregate in the cage under their coop and stay there.

Tu-Tu doesn't like being stuck inside the cage and ventures out from time to time for a little wander round.   Despite the fact that we've got lots and lots of woodchip in the run, it was never going to be able to cope with the amount of rain we've had recently.   As a result, it's somewhat muddy in there.   But our little Pekin is a game gal and doesn't care if her feet feathers get mucky.  Off she goes anyway.   Her footwear looks a mess after her perambulations, which leads on to something that puzzles me enormously.  How and when does she clean up?  She's a bird who takes a pride in her appearance, so she cleans said footwear quickly - but I've never seen her do it.  It amazes me, but you simply don't see her walking round for days with dried mud clinging to her feet or skirt. 

It was getting dark pretty quickly , what with the rain and overcast sky.  So I went down a bit earlier than usual to see if they'd decided to have an early night.  Some of them had indeed gone to bed, but a quick glance in the cage told me that Maggie, Irene, Pom-Pom and Rebecca were still lurking downstairs.  

For a while now, Pom-Pom has been roosting on the cage gate.  She was standing at the cage entrance now, in deep thought.  Should she go out and roost in the rain ..... or not.   I solved her dilemma by shutting the cage gate, so she'd have no alternative but to join the others in the coop.

I went back to the house feeling really pleased with myself because I'd prevented our little Poland from becoming a sodden mess of wet feathers.

I started back down to the coop about 15 minutes later, so that I could do a head count, close the pop-hole and lock the gate into the run.   I was met by my very anxious looking son, who had just got back from work. He informed me I'd left Rebecca outside the cage!

When I'd glanced in earlier, I'd mistaken Punk for Rebecca.   I'm sure it was some sort of conspiracy because Punk invariably goes to bed early - which is why I assumed she was Rebecca.

The upshot was that the poor little Araucana had been shut outside.   She kept running all the way round the outside of the cage and would stop outside the gate.   She'd stare hard at it (probably saying "Open sesame" - she'd heard that worked with stopped up caves), then off she'd go to do another circuit round the perimeter of the cage.  Then she'd stop at the gate, give it another look for a long moment, then off she'd go again.

I am sitting here weeping into my Martini.   I am a dreadful keeper of pet chickens.  I stop one of them roosting on her favourite perch, I mistake one of my chickens for her sister and, to cap it all, I lock said sister out in the cold and wet.

Never mind a refill - just pass me the bottle!

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