tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744451609882510602024-03-13T13:32:22.469+00:00Mucky Cluckers - chickens blogMucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.comBlogger170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-19352562324468159702014-07-20T16:53:00.001+01:002014-07-20T16:53:45.365+01:00Feed me Seymore!In the last blog I mentioned that our local pheasant asked nicely for his breakfast. Well this morning he showed the other side of his character.<br />
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There was no sign of him when I went to wake up the chickens this morning. I had put their various food dishes down, opened the pophole and watched while some came out voluntarily and others were hustled out by Fizz. As usual, Pom-Pom and the broody Tu-Tu took no notice of him whatsoever and stayed put.<br />
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I opened the nest box lid to find the recalcitrant duo sitting there looking stubborn. I picked Pom-Pom out and plopped her in front of her favourite food dish, then went back to collect Tu-Tu. I had just deposited her on the ground by my feet when a series of loud, raucous squawks assaulted my ears. It was the pheasant, marching up and down the garden wall, yelling at me to get myself out of the chicken run and sort his breakfast out. NOW!!!!!!!!!<br />
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Well I know my place. I grabbed a handful of layers pellets, which I know he enjoys, and flew (not literally) out to put them on the wall for him. He didn't even say "thankyou", just got his head down and started wrapping his beak round his breakfast.<br />
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When I went back into the run, Tu-Tu was sitting exactly where I'd left her. The bloody-minded little madam was going to be broody, come hell or high water. If that meant staying put outside, then so be it! But she relented when I put her in front of a dish of her favourite mash; she quickly got stuck in before anyone else tried to pinch it from her.<br />
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With everyone sorted, I trundled back to the house for a well-deserved cuppa.Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-49122208840055984702014-07-15T11:53:00.000+01:002014-07-15T11:53:22.600+01:00Breakfast is servedSo there I was in the outhouse, busy preparing breakfast for the Mucky Cluckers. As usual, the door was wide open to let the nice, fresh morning air flush yesterday's old air out. <br />
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Hearing a soft "woohooooooo", I glanced up to see our local pheasant standing a few yards away. He's a lovely lad, even though he did lose his tail a few months ago. But it's growing back nicely and is about halfway to being its full length now.<br />
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If he's around when I'm sorting the chicken food out, he usually comes over for his share of breakfast. The usual routine is that he waits near the door while I take a handful of mixed corn and put it on the ground a few yards away.. He then munches, while my cat sits at the door watching the pheasant and trying to work out whether he's too big to tackle. Zac has been trying to work that out for the last couple of years.<br />
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This morning was a bit different though. This time, instead of stopping near the door the pheasant decided to come right in! That might have been a bit more than Zac would tolerate, so I quickly grabbed some corn and gently ushered him back outside. I fed Mr Pheasant in his usual spot, Zac watched him and everything returned to normal.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture by David Croad</span><br />
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-83685371706015856502014-07-06T09:56:00.001+01:002014-07-06T09:56:32.779+01:00Pom-Pom's punch-up<span style="font-size: large;"> I don't know what Prissy said to upset Pom-Pom, but it really annoyed our little Poland. She was so irritated, she head-butted Prissy three times! Being walloped by a headful of feathers isn't exactly the most excruciatingly painful thing that can happen to you, but Prissy was mildly surprised that it had happened at all. Then peace returned and the pair of them carried on mowing the lawn. </span><br />
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<br />Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-82891839331423968892014-06-25T15:57:00.001+01:002014-06-25T16:13:22.537+01:00Is he or isn't he?<br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A friend asked me recently if Fizz was behaving liked a gentleman with the new girls. Personally, I wouldn't use the words "Fizz" and "gentleman" in the same sentence. Oh hang on, I just did!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Those of you who've been reading my blog for a while will know that the answer came complete with hysterical laughter from me. If he was anything like a gentleman, he would not have jumped up on my lap, done the biggest, sloppiest poo on my trousers, then jump off again as if nothing untoward had happened.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To be fair, he does call the girls over when he finds something nice for them to eat. You would have thought that, by now, they would have learned that he sometimes has the strangest idea of what they might enjoy munching. On the menu yesterday was my brand new, bright red watering can! Having rushed over to see what he'd found, the girls then stalked off in a collective huff.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As far as the newbies are concerned, Fizz can't quite make his mind up. He's bonked Nonami once and is trying to work out how to have his way with Prissy when she's so much taller than him. Scrat keeps a low profile in the hope that he'll mistake Nonami for her. But he's just as likely to take a truculent run at them, when all they want is a corner of the dustbath.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He's a right little oddball, but you just can't help loving the lad.</span></div>
Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-79773808086293861292014-06-10T12:41:00.000+01:002014-06-10T12:41:50.659+01:00Have hen; will travelChickens can be so naughty. They get into all sorts of places that they really shouldn't be; I've seen pictures of them in kitchens, lounges - one even made herself comfortable in the bathroom sink! But a couple of my Facebook friends have had their hens go on shopping trips! Here are their stories. <br />
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A Welsh friend's hen went off to the local co-op in the back of a workman's car. He was operating a digger at her home, and come lunchtime he drove off in his car to the shop to get something to eat. He had made the mistake of leaving all the windows of his car open when it was parked at her home - a clear invitation to passing chickens to check inside. When he came out of the shop, he turned to put his lunch on the back seat and there was a hen! She had laid an egg and was sitting tight enjoying the outing.<br />
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A New Zealand friend's hen hitched an even longer ride. Her husband drove 20 km to the shop to pick up the pig veg. Before he leaves on any trip, he always checks the back of the truck because there are invariably chickens in the crate that's kept there. He shooshes them out and then if any hop back on they usually hop out again pdq and go on their way. Not this time though.<br />
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When he arrived at the veggie shop there was a "bok bok" coming from the crate! There, tucked up in the corner of it, was a very pretty hen. He put her under his arm, went into the shop to ask if he could have a box and popped her in that for the return journey.<br />
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She'd been down windy back roads and then along the motorway at 90 km an hour, huddled down in the crate. What an adventure! Not that she appreciated it; when he got home and opened up the box, she hopped out, shouted at him and went and had something to eat! That hen has no idea how lucky she is!<br />
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<br />Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-6713811110911910782014-05-13T17:00:00.001+01:002014-05-13T17:04:21.569+01:00Do as you're told<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I have a battle on my hands. Nonami has only been laying eggs for 5 weeks and the little madam has decided to go broody! Well she's thinking hard about it anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At first we thought she was simply taking ages to lay her egg, as she spent forever in the nest box. But on reflection, we realised that she didn't do that for the first 4 weeks, this was something new. Then two things happened on Sunday. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We went to check how she was doing, after she had been sitting for half an hour. She gave a quiet growl when we opened the nest box lid and looked most displeased when No. 1 Son felt underneath her to see if she had laid yet. Not only had she produced an egg herself, she had snaffled those laid by Tu-Tu and Punk and was pancaked across the three of them! Worse was to come. We hoiked her out of the nest box, and discovered that she had begun to pull her chest feathers out. Fortunately there were only a dozen or so in her little den, but her intention was crystal clear.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There was nothing for it; I had to have a mother to chicken chat with her. I explained the drawbacks of being a very young mother in graphic detail. All that responsibility, no more time to yourself, all that sort of stuff. Then came the clincher. I looked her in the eye and told her very firmly that <b><i><u>I</u></i></b> would decide if I needed more chickens, not some pint-sized Silver Sussex!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Seems to have worked, as she hasn't set foot in the nest box today. Or has she gone on strike?</span></div>
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-20107598554207023572014-05-08T14:35:00.001+01:002014-05-08T16:04:27.659+01:00Introducing the new additions<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The very first two hens who came to live with us were Queen B and Tu-Tu. We got them from the Home Farm of a lovely early 16th century mansion near Leeds, so we returned there when we wanted some more bantams. We were not disappointed. We came home with a white Croad Langshan and two Silver Sussex girls.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Initially we thought the Langshan would be the trio's leader. When we put the three of them in the carrier, she had ooched the two Sussex hens along until they were crammed up against the back wall, and she had the luxury of plenty of room left over for herself. But that's been the only time she's shown any leadership qualities. The oldest of the new lot is one of the Silver Sussex ladies (on the right of the picture), who was born in November 2013 - the other two were December chicks. Where she goes, they quickly follow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We kept them apart from the others for nearly three weeks. They could all see each other, but were separated by fencing, both in the run and when they were out in the garden. It was during garden time that the older Sussex really showed her mettle. The full story of this period will appear in my regular column of June's "Practical Poultry" magazine; just suffice it to say she took on all-comers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Once we let both groups mingle, the biggest problem was Fizz. Wouldn't you think he'd be delighted to welcome more ladies to his harem? But no! He saw them as aliens from another planet and kept right on attacking them. The water squirter worked overtime, I can tell you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Things have sort of settled down now, but they all stay in two quite separate groups. The two younger newbies even gather beneath the coop to wait for the oldest Sussex while she lays her egg (she laid her first one at the farm, only an hour or so before we collected her).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The new girls have quite distinct personalities. The Langshan was obviously a model in a previous life, judging by the amount of time she spends preening and making sure she looks good at all times. When she's not preening, she's eating. Perhaps she's making up for all the times she had to diet during her modelling career. She's a very docile hen, but stunningly beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The oldest Sussex has proved herself to be a feisty madam, but she has also quickly accepted our need to cuddle her. The younger one, however, has not. This morning she took one look at me, decided she wasn't taking any chances that I might want cuddles and, from a standing start, flew 20ft (6 metres) into the field behind the garden! When a sheep started to wander across to take a closer look at her, she ran up and down wondering how to get back where she belonged. Luckily No. 1 Son was on hand to jump into the field and rescue her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I think we're in for a lot of fun with our new feathery friends.</span></div>
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-62290711661575487172014-04-25T17:39:00.002+01:002014-04-25T17:39:28.364+01:00Yet another visit to the vet!I'm beginning to think I should rent a cottage in the extensive grounds attached to the vet's practice that I use. We go for years without any need for a vet at all, then it's been a succession of visits over the past few months. At least this time there was a happier ending.<br />
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We noticed that Rebecca wasn't looking so good. She was spending an awful lot of time wandering off to stand by herself. She had her feathers all puffed out and was looking distinctly unhappy. She seemed to be eating and drinking OK and her tail was up. But this was unusual behaviour, even for a little odd-ball like her. Then she went off to the nest box and when she emerged, we went to collect her egg. There wasn't one, but Rebecca was standing by herself again.<br />
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When we checked her over, we noticed a white, sticky substance dribbling from her vent. Worried that an egg had shunted itself the wrong way and ended up in her tummy area (which could lead to egg yolk peritonitis), we rushed her off to the vet. He thought it could indeed be EYP as her tummy area was swollen. <br />
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The prognosis for a hen with this problem is not good, but we all felt we should try and treat her. She responded well ... until a couple of days ago. Then she looked distinctly poorly, so off we went to the vet again.<br />
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Now Rebecca doesn't cluck, she squeaks - it's a really weird sound for a chicken to make. But as I said earlier, she is an odd-ball. She was making a quiet little squeak all the way to the vet, but it sounded as if she was in a lot of pain. I steeled myself for the fact that we might be coming back without her.<br />
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As we pulled into the car park she gave a yell, which was followed by a thump. She had laid an egg!<br />
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When the vet examined her, we were delighted to learn that the swelling in her tummy had disappeared. He thought the painful egg laying process may have been as a result of a residual inflammation somewhere along her reproductive system. He advised an injection that will stop her laying any eggs at all for around 5 months, so she won't have any more pain and her little body can recuperate.<br />
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I can't tell you how happy I was to be bringing her back home with me. I know the Araucanas and Polands are 4 now and they won't go on forever. But I'm really not ready to lose any more of my little flock just yet.<br />
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-2661753890508896802014-04-07T10:56:00.000+01:002014-04-07T10:56:38.905+01:00Yesterday started off well. We were having a cup of tea in the garden when we were treated to a parade of sheep through the field next door. They'd all been away for a few days and had now arrived back with their new-born lambs in tow. Wonderful sight! We knew the youngsters were due any time now and were so pleased to be able to see their first foray into the big, wide world.<br />
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We still haven't found any young bantams to add to our depleted flock - it's a bit early yet, if I'm honest. We really miss having Mad Irene, Maggie and Titian around. As No. 1 Son says, they were big personalities as well as being big hens.<br />
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We suspect that Punk is laying her egg and then eating it. We haven't actually caught her at it, but we've only been getting one Araucana egg of late, instead of the usual two. Added to that, some of the bedding in the nest box often looks discoloured, a very similar hue to egg yolk, although there's never any shell lying around. We also noticed that Punk had some desiccated gunk round her beak. Call me cynical, but I did wonder if it was the remains of that morning's eggy breakfast. The other day I put two newly laid eggs in a plant pot for safety while I sat nearby and chatted to the chickens. Fizz spotted them and did his "there's food here" call to the girls. Hmmmmmm. <br />
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Yesterday also finished badly for Punk. All of a sudden she started flinging herself headfirst at the new bit of fence! We picked her up and calmed her down, but her little heart was racing like mad. She did this once before, last year. Then, as now, we could see nothing obviously wrong; no insect bites or wounds. We think she may simply have eaten something that stung her as payback.Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-12930208401581571222014-03-10T11:41:00.000+00:002014-03-10T11:41:13.564+00:00RIP Mad IreneWhen you have pets of any kind, you know that the time will come when you have to say goodbye to them. They have a certain lifespan, just as we do. We recently had to say our farewells to our lovely Mad Irene. She has generously left us with some terrific memories, all of which bring us laughter and smiles. What a legacy!<br />
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She had two passions in her life - digging and stealing. She had a formidable talent for excavating the deepest holes, often in the most awkward places. Last year she gouged out a series of deep chasms just inside the entrance to the main run. She carefully placed them in two rows, leaving a narrow path in the middle for our use. "Walking the straight and narrow" took on a whole new meaning. Stray off the path and stumble into one of Irene's craters, and you might never be seen again!<br />
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You also took a chance if you stood behind her when she was in quarrying mode. She had a very forceful kick. We've seen her send earth and stones arcing across the garden, to land yards away from where it started. And if digging was precluded for some reason, she would get what she wanted some other way. For instance we had stacked some wooden blocks on a concrete ledge that runs along the bottom of our fence. Irene was convinced there was corn hidden beneath them, but the ledge was too narrow for her to stand on and kick the blocks off. So she hooked them off with her beak and then kicked them across the lawn.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Irene considers the apple Tu-Tu has is rightfully hers!</i></td></tr>
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She spent a lot of time rushing around checking that the rest of the flock didn't have something that was rightfully hers. Many a poor worm has been yanked out of another chicken's beak, only to find itself in Irene's crop. As she considered us fully paid up members of the chicken run, we also found ourselves relieved of sandwiches, toast and cake at various times.<br />
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We shall miss Mad Irene enormously, but what joy and laughter she brought into our lives.Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-18054411257737698852014-02-06T10:30:00.000+00:002014-02-06T10:30:36.499+00:00What a surprise!Thanks to her big crest, Pom-Pom would have us believe that she can't see the world very well. And up until now, we've believed her. We've seen with our own eyes how she struggles to jump down from her favourite perch on the fence behind the smoking shelter roof to grab her share of the afternoon treats. It's all of 12" high and she leans down towards the ground, struggling to see a landing spot on the ground below.<br />
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It's the same in the garden. Because of her restricted vision, I've taken to placing her next to a tasty piece of something or other and picking her up when she's eaten her fill. When I let her roam around, she quite often bumps into things. I watch her like a hawk and she also spends quite a lot of her time on my lap. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pom-Pom surveying the world from her favourite spot</i></td></tr>
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So as you can imagine, it came as quite a surprise to discover that she can see much, much better than we realised.<br />
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No. 1 Son had volunteered to go out in the pouring rain to give the Cluckers their late afternoon wheat. We give it to them as a Winter warmer before they retire for the night. As usual, Irene and Rebecca rushed to the run gate hoping to make a break for the garden when it was opened. But No. 1 Son isn't daft; he thwarted them by throwing a handful of wheat behind them. While they were busy with the wheat, he quickly slipped into the run, closing the gate behind him.<br />
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Knowing there would be further supplies, Irene and Rebecca followed him back to the cage beneath the coop where everyone was sheltering from the rain. The wheat was duly thrown in for them and 5 beaks got busy pecking it up. <br />
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The sixth beak belonged to Pom-Pom, and she had a better idea. She trotted outside and headed straight for the now-forgotten treasure trove of wheat which had been thrown in earlier as a distraction. She had the lot to herself.<br />
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The thing is, it lay at least 4 feet away from where she had been standing when it was thrown. Would she normally be able to spot something that far away? No, she would not. At least, that is what she has always led us to believe. Her path to the goodies led her past the ramp up to the coop, past the food dish, out through the cage door, along the outer side of the cage and round the corner to just below the nest box. Did she bump into anything at all on her journey? No, she did not! Did she get what she wanted without mishap? Yes she did!<br />
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It appears that she has a far better field of vision than we have given her credit for. So it seems that the scheming little madam has been taking advantage of us all this time. Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-23355374653102597552014-01-18T12:08:00.000+00:002014-01-18T12:11:01.689+00:00What a brave bantam!<span style="font-size: large;">According to No. 1 Son, our little flock are the least adventurous chickens in poultry history. I think he may be right. As a treat (so we thought) we hung a pecking block in the cage part of their run; the weather has been miserable lately and therefore so have the Cluckers. The pecking block would occupy them for a while and give them a bit of pleasure. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Did it hell! They were afraid of it and avoided it like the plague! When they realised it was refusing to leave, they took to ignoring it and looked away when they walked past it. That should teach it! But it didn't, so Punk decided to take action. I didn't actually hear her swearing at it, but knowing Punk she probably did - she swears at everyone and everything at the least provocation. But I have seen her attacking it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She started off by giving it a few hard pecks and discovered that actually, it tasted rather nice. Now she gives it a few pecks whenever she walks past. But none of the others go near it, if they can avoid it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My theory is that Punk has let it be known that she's happy to keep the pecking block under control all by herself. The others needn't worry, she'll do the job alone because she's a courageous, community-spirited girl. The Cluckers can see for themselves that it is wasting away day by day, so plucky Punk is obviously doing a good job.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hmmmmm. Is that just the hint of a smirk I see playing around the edges of Punk's beak?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">If you mess with Punk, expect trouble</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-91010001272844997192014-01-03T14:37:00.000+00:002014-01-03T14:42:19.132+00:00Off with the old, on with the new<br />
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Thank goodness the big Autumn moult is finally over and done with. The Cluckers all start and finish at different times and progress at different rates. I think they do it just to make my life that bit more difficult.<br />
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Chickens lose their feathers in a very specific order ... allegedly. That order is supposed to be the head, then the neck, followed by the breast, body, wings and finally their tail. That's what the books say. <br />
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My lot haven't bothered to read the books and, furthermore, they don't seem to care. They just fling their feathers off in any order and to hell with the rules.<br />
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Both the Polands discarded their tail feathers first. They slowly grew them back, then got rid of some crest and neck feathers. After that, Fizz lost a few of his larger flight feathers, and then decided that enough was enough. Meanwhile while Pom-Pom discarded a few crest and body feathers that were surplus to her requirements, and left it at that.<br />
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Tu-Tu was annoyed that feet feathers weren't mentioned anywhere. So she went overboard and grew new ones that were bigger, better and more abundant than she'd ever had before. She trips over them now and again, but that doesn't seem to bother her unduly. She also looked a lot slimmer after shedding no end of body feathers, but managed still to keep her basic shape.<br />
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For the last couple of years Rebecca has favoured the vulture look, by losing most of her head feathers. This year she went for "the skeleton". She managed to retain her big flight feather shafts, but not the feathery bits attached to them. So she wandered round for ages looking as if she had ribs showing through her down. Punk couldn't be bothered with all this palaver, so she just settled for a trio of feathers sticking up on the crown of her head for ages and left it at that.<br />
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Maggie also thought a change would be good. She usually discards all the feathers along her spine in a sort of reverse Mohican, but not this year. Like Tu-Tu, she had a general all over loss, but couldn't bring herself to lose all her tail feathers. She kept the outside circle of feathers and got rid of the inner bunch. Consequently she walked round looking as if she had a sideways halo round her vent.<br />
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Some sad news about Maggie - we recently had to have her put to sleep. One morning she didn't come out when we opened up. We checked and she looked dreadful. There had been no sign of illness, in fact the previous day she had been happily scratching round in the garden. Our vet advised that nothing could be done for her and we should give her a comfortable end to her life, rather than let her suffer.<br />
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There's only two of our original girls left now, Mad Irene and Tu-Tu, and they are pensioners. Luckily, they seem fit and happy. But getting used to a flock without Titian and now without Maggie is proving very, very difficult. Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-660519214781940992013-11-13T13:50:00.001+00:002013-11-13T14:26:25.444+00:00A word of warning maybe?The Cluckers have got me really worried. Before you gasp with anxiety, they are all fit, healthy and in excellent spirits.<br />
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They've got their moulting over and done with and they all look magnificent. And that's what worries me. Each and every one of them has a finer set of feathers than they have ever had before. Ever! I have to ask myself why. <br />
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The only thing I can think of is that they know something we don't. My suspicion is that we are in for a very harsh Winter, my chickens are well aware of that and have, in a manner of speaking, put an extra pair of thermals on.<br />
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In my last blog I mentioned the lavish headgear the two Polands are now sporting. Fizz, in particular, also seems to have sprouted considerably more feathers all over the show. It's a bit different with Pom-Pom. Madam sheds feathers so discreetly it's almost impossible to see where she's lost them from, other than her tail. For a while the pair of them wandered round without a tail between them. It is equally hard to see where Pom-Pom has grown them back, other than lots of extras in her crest.<br />
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Both Maggie and Tu-Tu got rid of duvetfuls of feathers. However, they both had so many to start with they looked pretty much the same, but slimmer. But their regrowth is even more abundant than it was before.<br />
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The two Araucana girls decided to approach their moults differently. Punk decided to live up to her name and wandered round with stray feathers sticking up at all angles on her head. That was about as far as she went. Rebecca looked as if she was practicing for Halloween! She ended up with all the shafts of her wing feathers showing on both sides, so that she looked like a walking skeleton.<br />
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Mad Irene got rid of her tail, as many bum feathers as she could without going bald, and lots from her neck. The feather loss round her neck caused us some amusement. She has a habit of stretching her neck up to its fullest extent to look at things and decide if she can be bothered going over to examine them more closely. You really shouldn't do that when your neck is scrawny. But her feathers have also all grown back in super-abundance.<br />
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So I'm off to the shops to get some really warm vests, a few pairs of long-johns and some nice thick socks - just in case.Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-12967936267778326322013-10-20T14:12:00.000+01:002013-10-20T14:14:45.693+01:00Head on crash<br />
We have taken pity on the lawn. When it was time for the Cluckers to have their afternoon treat, we had got into the habit of throwing things onto the grass. Unfortunately, a summer of being scratched and pecked by over-zealous chickens, bent on finding every last piece of whatever-it-was, had left several bare patches. We decided to give the lawn a break and plonk goodies on the paved path and the patio flag stones instead. <br />
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With winter fast approaching, we have been putting down lots of little heaps of mixed corn, dried mealworms and sunflower seeds. We want the flock to fatten up a bit before the really cold weather arrives.<br />
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There is plenty for everyone; each chicken can have its very own, exclusive heap. But what happens? They all want to munch the same heap! Wily old Tu-Tu always stays put; that way she has a whole row of heaps all to herself.<br />
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I always pick Pom-Pom up and deposit her at the pile which is furthest away from everyone else. If I didn't, she would spend all her time running away. Whenever she catches sight of Rebecca, she scoots off in the opposite direction. Chasing Pom-Pom may be the furthest thing from Rebecca's mind, but the little Poland dashes off anyway - just in case.<br />
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Fizz spotted Pom-Pom chomping away on her own and decided to join her. She didn't mind at all, but an unexpected problem presented itself. The predicament took the form of their crests. They collided if both chickens tried to eat simultaneously. <br />
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Two necks would stretch forward, each aiming for a tasty mealworm or a piece of barley, but neither beak could quite reach it. As a result of their combined bounteous feather arrangements, if they both tried to eat at the same time, neither could get close enough to grab anything. Their crests met and held their heads apart. As a result, a cosy beak-to-beak supper was quite impossible.<br />
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Following this year's moult, Fizz's crest is rather more lavish than it has been in the past. Pom-Pom's has always resembled the 60's Dusty Springfield bouffant hairdo I used to have. (My hair was so rigid from all the lacquer I used in those days, that had you dropped me on my head my skull would have been undamaged). <br />
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In the end, the pair of them gave up and wandered off to find alternative stockpiles to demolish independently.Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-24543321305823924042013-10-08T13:13:00.001+01:002013-10-08T13:18:11.765+01:00A tribute to Titian<br />
This has been a difficult blog to make myself write. We have lost Titian.<br />
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She became unwell and after visits to the vet and phone consultations, she was diagnosed with heart failure. She was clearly deteriorating and the vet said it would get worse and become very distressing for her. So we had her put to sleep.<br />
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As you can imagine, No. 1 Son and I were very upset - she was from our original flock. Then yesterday an odd thing happened. For the first time ever, I found myself sharing the village bus shelter with two pullets. And furthermore they both looked remarkably like Titian when she was young. I stood quietly so that they didn't get scared, they decided I was harmless and continued poking around in the dead leaves.<br />
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As I watched them, I couldn't help remembering Titian and her antics over the years; before long I found myself smiling. <br />
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Her most enduring, and endearing, characteristic was her chattering. The first thing she did when she got up in the morning was to have a drink. The second was to come over and fill you in on all the latest gossip. Woe betide you if you let your attention wander! She knew and would tug on your trouser leg to bring your attention back to what she was saying. Only when she'd finished telling you what you needed to know, would she go and eat her breakfast. <br />
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The day after Titian died, for the first time in her life Maggie came out of the coop when I opened up and straight over to me. She muttered a quick "Good morning. You all right?" and then headed for the food dish. She hasn't done it again, but I appreciated the gesture.<br />
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Titian was a slow, ponderous hen on the whole. Place a tasty morsel in front of her and she would gaze lovingly at it, apparently anticipating its flavour with each of her 24 taste buds, one by one. She rarely got to find out if her anticipation was matched by the reality. One of her companions invariably dived in and scoffed said morsel before Titian's beak got anywhere near it.<br />
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There was one time, though, when she got what she wanted. Maggie walked past her and rather rudely dropped a poo just in front of Titian, before joining the rest of the flock on the lawn. There, sitting on the edge of Maggie's whoopsie was a piece of corn. Complete. Undigested. Only one previous, careful owner. Titian gave it her usual measured consideration, then ate it! Well she couldn't let it go to waste, could she?<br />
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She gave Pom-Pom a very hard time when the little Poland first arrived in the flock. One evening she decided to give everyone else a hard time too. She went to bed early and positioned herself on the perch, just inside the pop hole. As each chicken entered the coop, Titian pecked them on the head. Once pecked, the chicken was then allowed to go and roost without being molested further. Maybe she was doing my job for me and counting them in. Who knows? She certainly never duplicated this performance.<br />
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She was highly strung as a young hen, but nevertheless found a great way to relax and enjoy herself. We had left a full bag of wood chips leaning in the corner of the run, so it would be handy when we needed to top up. The bag itself was plastic and very slippery when wet, as you can imagine. This suited Titian's purpose admirably. She would jump onto the side of the wet bag and slide down the front. Then she would repeat the process several times until she got bored and wandered off. I often wondered why none of the others joined her, but they never did. <br />
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Like most chickens she loved her dustbath, but woe betide anyone who was bathing in the spot she wanted. She was our largest hen and used her bulk to advantage to shift the offender. She would sit as close to the guilty party as possible and start her ablutions, while gradually moving sideways and pushing the other chicken out of "her" spot. She always won.<br />
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Right from the start Titian aspired to the role of Chicken-In-Chief. Unfortunately she was never able to work out how to make the climb from middle ranker to top of the heap. Being such a slowcoach, by the time she'd developed a strategy, someone else had bagged the position.<br />
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Titian was not a lap hen and hated even being stroked. It took her most of her life to work out that if we leaned towards her with an outstretched hand, all she had to do was run away, not squat to submit to one quick stroke. On second thoughts, maybe it was just as well she didn't like sitting on our laps. In later life she developed the habit of letting off totally silent, but world-class smelly farts! She would stand at our feet, let rip, then assume an air of injured innocence as she walked away. <br />
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Our Rhode Island Red may have been a bit of a bird-brain, but the gal sure was a looker! Her abundant deep auburn feathers gleamed in the sun and even shone in the shade.<br />
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We miss Titian. We can't get used to counting seven chickens instead of eight. But we are so very glad we had her in our lives.<br />
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<br />Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-10356571976687433852013-09-19T12:46:00.002+01:002013-09-19T12:50:38.749+01:00Exciting newsI'm so excited. The paperback version of <i>Mucky Cluckers - Tales from the chicken run</i> is finally available as a paperback.<br />
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It's £8.99 plus P&P from <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: '.HelveticaNeueUI'; line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">http://www.muckycluckers.co.uk/</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">Lots of people have been kind enough to say how much they've enjoyed it. </span><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">Best of </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">all, it makes people laugh. </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">So the Cluckers are rightly proud of themselves - because all I've done is record </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">their daft antics.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u> “Recommended to animal lovers, whether you keep chickens or not” </u></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>“What a fantastic read! Made me laugh out loud in some parts.” </u></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0000ee;"><u>“Wonderful book! Entertaining read & very well written”</u></span></div>
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-34400109477769600382013-09-16T15:00:00.001+01:002013-09-16T15:00:11.509+01:00An historic event!<br />
I have fond childhood memories of chickens because my grandfather kept them. But whereas he simply saw them as providers of eggs ..... or Sunday lunch......, to me they are pets, just as much as my cat is. If Granddad could see me now, cuddling a chicken, he'd probably have 50 fits!<br />
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He certainly wouldn't understand why I should get excited over a chicken having a dustbath. But I did, because it was an historic event, in its way.<br />
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The chicken concerned was Pom-Pom and yesterday she took her first dustbath ... ever. She's 4 years old and has never felt it necessary to mingle at ablution time. In reality, she is at the bottom of the pecking order; but in her mind, socially we are all way beneath her, both chickens and humans. That may explain why, when she finally decided that a bath was in order, she condescended to bathe only with Fizz. At least he's family.<br />
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For those of you who haven't met the Mucky Cluckers before, here's a short video to show you everyone except Rebecca, who was busy laying an egg.<br />
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<br />Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-72333801691124151042013-08-09T09:55:00.004+01:002013-08-09T09:55:53.907+01:00A model hen<br />
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No. 1 Son is less than impressed with the local bird life these days. We were sitting in the garden enjoying a nice, cool lager when a piece of bird poo was delivered from above - straight into his glass!<br />
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Irene is now back to normal, despite a bit of a mishap with her last day's medication. She had finally cottoned on that the butter we were kindly giving her was not just butter. It hid half a tablet! So just to show us how smart she is, she ate the butter from our greasy fingers and threw the tablet on the floor. Quick as a flash, Rebecca darted in and ate it.<br />
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We thought that was accidental and offered Irene the second half of her tablet smothered in butter. Blow me, she did the same thing again! This time Punk dived in and ate the discarded tablet. It seems none of them suffered any ill effects from not eating or eating the antibiotics, thank goodness.<br />
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Then Pom-Pom decided she had better walk like a model, just in case any paparazzi were filming her from the other side of the valley. She took half a dozen steps, carefully putting one foot directly in front of the other. Somehow that didn't feel quite right. So she took a step, lifted her leg right up close to her body for a moment, then stretched it forward to take another step. Then we had the same performance with the other leg. This went on for a few minutes while she gave the imagined photographers time to get good shots of her from various angles. After that, it was back to normal and blow the paparazzi.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Watch out Julia Nobis, Pom-Pom can walk the walk too</i></td></tr>
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Punk has no time for posers, so she rushed over to have a go at Pom-Pom. Luckily No. 1 Son spotted what was going on and put his open hand in front of her to halt progress. She was incensed! If she couldn't have a go at Pom-Pom, then she'd jolly-well have a go at him! She flew at him feet first, then bit his hand so hard it bruised! No wonder I've used three exclamation marks in succession! (Make that four). Then she stomped off, muttering to herself.<br />
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It's just as well the paparazzi weren't around a couple of days later. We had given everyone some cooked broad beans; Pom-Pom managed to wander round, blissfully unaware that she had a bit of bean stuck to the end of her beak. She did look silly.<br />
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To make matters worse her far end looks daft too, as she's moulted all her tail feathers. At least she's not on her own there, as Fizz has discarded all his lovely tail feathers too. At least where the Polands are concerned, they truly are "all in it together".<br />
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-5181012612728077182013-07-30T17:10:00.000+01:002013-07-30T17:10:31.324+01:00A visit to the vet<br />
It's been quite a week one way and another, some of it amusing but part of it very worrying.<br />
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First Fizz decided to bonk Titian while she was dozing in the dust bath. Titian's usual routine is a quick wash followed by a long sleep, as he well knew. Quite what Fizz was thinking I don't know, but he decided to mount her sideways! A novel approach, but it doesn't achieve the desired result as I've explained to him before.<br />
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Titian got her own back the next day. Fizz decided to take his biannual dust bath, which is always a long, thorough affair. Titian bided her time until Fizz was having the chicken equivalent of a long soak and a nap. Then she casually sauntered over to examine a lone surviving piece of grass growing right next to Fizz. The only way she could see it properly, of course, was to stand with one foot on Fizz's head and take a good, long look at the grass. He had the good sense not to even attempt to wriggle out from beneath Titian's dinosaur-sized tootsie. She finally got bored and moved on, much to his relief.<br />
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While all this was going on, we were getting a bit concerned about Mad Irene. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The lovely Mad Irene</i></td></tr>
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Normally, before we open the run gate we say "Up Irene" and she jumps onto the nest box roof (which is next to the gate) if she hasn't already done so. But on Thursday, she couldn't be bothered, no matter how much we encouraged her. <br />
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When the Cluckers trooped out we noticed that Irene was rather lethargic, her eyes looked tired and her comb was paler than usual. There was a lump high in her throat, but her crop was empty. Worried that food might be impacted in her throat, we fed her some tomato and then went off to search for maggots, hoping that these two remedies for impacted crop might work for whatever was going on in Irene's throat.<br />
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Harrogate has three huntin', shootin' and fishin' emporia because it's a posh town and one has to be able to purchase one's deerstalker and shooting stick from somewhere, doesn't one. But they are far too upmarket to stock maggots. Took us a while to find an angling supplies shop that hadn't either gone out of business or turned itself into a trendy wine bar. But we finally got back to the chicken run with half a pint of the little wrigglers.<br />
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Irene ate a few, but didn't approach them with her usual "Mine, mine, mine and so are yours" attitude. In fact she was unusually quiet and subdued; she just drifted around a bit of the lawn near us. Usually she rushes about all over the place, scared she might miss something that should rightfully be hers. We gave it a while, then massaged the lump in her neck and eventually got the clump of food moved down to her crop. But then I could feel a hard, forefinger sized lump in her throat which no amount of massaging could get rid of. By now it was much too late to get to the vet. We would see how she was next morning.<br />
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Disastrous as it turned out. She wasn't too bothered about coming out of the coop, although she normally rushes out first. She was very sluggish and had no appetite. Then she did a semi-fluid poo with blood streaked starkly across the urates. We immediately made an appointment with the vet.<br />
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She was the perfect patient. She allowed a thorough examination with far more grace than we ever realised she possessed. The vet could find nothing drastically wrong and concluded that she had something going on in her digestive system. He then gave her an antibiotic injection, which she bore with great stoicism. He prescribed a course of antibiotic tablets and off we went.<br />
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I had assured the vet we'd have no problem getting tablets down Irene. Irene made no such undertaking. Consequently the next day, when we wrapped small pieces of tablet in bits of raspberry, she ate the fruit and left the tablet. We put the bits in with some corn, which she ate with relish, leaving the bits behind. We put those same bits in with a few maggots. The maggots got started on the bits - just very briefly before they were chomped up by Irene. Who left the damned bits behind. Again.<br />
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Then No. 1 Son tried smothering the bits with butter. Irene nearly took his hand off in her eagerness to get the buttery bits eaten! That evening we simply broke the large tablet in half, smothered them both in butter and they disappeared down Irene's throat so fast it made your head spin.<br />
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She rapidly improved and is back to normal now, as she proved by excavating one of her world famous "this way to Australia" holes this morning.<br />
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Oh, and that sinister finger-sized lump? That turned out to be ..... her neck bones!<br />
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-65092823352375393392013-07-28T09:14:00.001+01:002013-07-28T09:14:58.717+01:00For LilyRaineCan't seem to find a way to send you a direct message Lily. You asked for a picture of Mr Pheasant and I will try to get one for you. In the meantime, if you take a look on my blog at the post of 5 March 2012 "Pheasant Company" there's a picture of exactly the same type of male pheasant as the two who come to see me every day. The head feathers look black in the picture, but in sunlight they have a beautiful deep greeny-blue shimmer to them. There's also a picture of a female with her young.<br />
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Hope this helps.Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-25035847122371911112013-07-25T08:52:00.001+01:002013-07-25T08:54:01.522+01:00Flying kites<br />
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Apparently chickens have between 20 and 30 vocalisations, depending on which study you read. Irene demonstrated one of them recently when she gave a low purring sound. This purring sound can express three very different things: contentment, fear or - as in Irene's case recently - a warning. <br />
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Fizz yells his warnings at the top of his voice. The resulting racket is something along the lines of a strangled shriek. We reckon he is actually yelling "CROW!!!!", but he does have a tendency to apply it to all sorts of things. In the past he has warned of helicopters, sheep and, last week, a passing Red Admiral butterfly. But to be fair, he has a limited knowledge of English, so "CROW!!!!" has to cover everything. Not that it matters; none of the girls take the slightest bit of notice of him.<br />
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But they immediately took Irene's warning seriously. Each one of them instantly froze. After a moment of complete immobility they quietly, and in an orderly fashion, trooped into the safety of their covered run. Fizz was already in there having a quick snack, but I doubt he'd have noticed the very real danger circling overhead. His fringed hairdo means he misses a lot.<br />
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The reason for Irene's alarm was that she had spotted a pair of Red Kites patrolling in the cerulean sky directly above her. Red Kites! No wonder my Cluckers decided to hoof it back to where they felt safe, despite the fact that I was sitting in the garden with them. <br />
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I see the young kites quite often. Sometimes they are being chased off by irate birds intent on protecting their young, sometimes they are circling so high in the sky you can scarcely see them. It's doubtful they would attack the Cluckers because they mostly dine on carrion, only occasionally taking small birds or mammals. </div>
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But Irene was taking no chances. After all, for all she knew these Kites might have fancied chicken for a change.</div>
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<img src="webkit-fake-url://DCCEB857-EA3F-44CC-B8D4-F7F89DA574C7/imagejpeg" />Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-4538709499477207902013-07-16T11:49:00.002+01:002013-07-16T11:49:16.920+01:00Kindred spirits<br />
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I may have been delighted to see No. 1 Son return home after his long, long holiday but the pheasant wasn't. In fact he was so miffed he wouldn't speak to me for a few days.</div>
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The problem was he had got used to it being just him and me at breakfast and afternoon tea. When I went down to open up and feed the chickens each morning, he would always be hanging around in the garden or on the wall waiting for his share. In the late afternoon, he would leg it across the field as soon as I appeared in the garden. More corn for him, and his lady wife if she put in an appearance.</div>
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He was a bit late last week, but he knew I would be in the garden with the chickens at that time of day, and so jumped up on the wall. Horror of horrors - I was not the only human! My son and our neighbour were there too. </div>
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Well that wasn't on, was it? He glared at me, leapt back into the field and marched off, his wife scuttling along behind him wondering what the hell his problem was. </div>
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He decided to teach me a lesson. When I have corn for him, but he hasn't noticed I'm around, I make a loud "kissing" sound. He stops grubbing around in the field, looks up, spots me and runs over. For the next two days whenever I made my "kissing" sound, he looked up, scowled at me and got on with his grubbing. I rather had the impression that his wife shook her head and raised her eyes skyward - but I could be wrong.</div>
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Yesterday morning he reckoned I had been punished enough (and anyway he was missing his corn). So as I sat watching the chickens doing the gardening, he appeared on the wall. I apologised and fed him. We were friends again and that should have been that. But it wasn't.</div>
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That afternoon, he was waiting in the garden for me. No. 1 Son was with me and decided that if I could get pally with the local wildlife, so could he. He poured some corn into his hand and held it out towards the pheasant.</div>
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"He won't eat from your hand," I said. "You'll have to put it on the wall or the ground," I said. "Careful! Don't frighten him," I said.</div>
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So what did the bloody pheasant do? Came straight over and happily ate from my son's hand.</div>
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Men!!!!!</div>
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-77713648762825059782013-06-06T18:50:00.000+01:002013-06-06T18:51:59.784+01:00Bosom pals<br />
I've never had a chicken sit on my bust before, but this afternoon Pom-Pom did just that! I blame Punk.<br />
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A while back Punk realised that the only chicken below her in the pecking order was our little Poland bantam. So she has made a point of giving Pom-Pom a quick peck whenever the opportunity presents itself. Yesterday, she not only pecked, she chased too. Poor old Pom-Pom ran away but as she can only see downwards (due to her huge crest), she inevitably ran into things.<br />
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For once Fizz remembered that cockerels don't just bonk everything in sight, they are also meant to keep peace and harmony within the flock. He went over and stood in front of his half-sister so that her persecutor couldn't get to her. I was so proud!<br />
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I let them all out into the garden this afternoon and blow me if Punk didn't start her nonsense again! I scooped Pom-Pom up and had words with Punk.<br />
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Pom-Pom and I sat on the garden bench, I put her on my knee and fed her a bit of corn. Then she glanced down and spotted Punk chomping on the grass nearby. Panic stations! And she decided that her best course of action was to climb up me. <br />
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I presumed she was heading for my shoulder, but I presumed wrong. She got as far as my busty substances, found them rather comfy and settled down. She shuffled around a little so that my chin rested nicely on her back and then went to sleep! Well it was a lovely sunny afternoon, she felt safe, so why not?<br />
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I can't honestly say it was equally as comfortable for me. For a start, because she rarely does any digging her claws are quite sharp. Even though she was at rest, they stuck into parts of my anatomy that simply aren't used to that kind of treatment. And I suppose I could have moved my chin, but she'd got it just where she wanted it, so it hardly seemed fair to put it somewhere else.<br />
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After a while, along came Fizz who jumped up on my lap and began to preen. This woke Pom-Pom who thought preening was an excellent idea. That was another first for me. Having a chicken sitting on my less-than-ample bosom, tarting herself up!<br />
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I wouldn't mind, but their toilette took forever! Eventually I decided that enough was enough, put Pom-Pom in a safe place in the run and ushered the rest of them back inside too.<br />
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Then I tootled back to the house to check my bra and its contents for damage.Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-474445160988251060.post-30893510955923029522013-05-20T18:10:00.000+01:002013-05-20T18:10:20.132+01:00Drop by any time<br />
If I needed any confirmation that chickens and pheasants belong on the same family tree, I got it yesterday.<br />
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The Cluckers and I were out in the garden, taking advantage of a rare sighting of the sun. The female pheasant was doing the same thing in the field behind our garden. In fact she was having a dustbath. It was a long, luxurious, thoroughly self-indulgent affair. Had she been human, there would have been lots of perfumed bubbles; probably a glass of wine on the side too.<br />
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Her husband was pottering about at the far end of the field, but noticed madam finishing her ablutions. When she stood up and shook all the dust off, he came hurtling over. As he drew near he suddenly stopped, dropped his wings and danced sideways over to her. It could have been Fizz! The similarity became even more evident when Mrs Pheasant totally ignored her husband's advances.<br />
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To my surprise, the chicken comparison didn't end there. One of the pheasant daughters chose that moment to jump up on my wall and into my garden. She'd noticed me all right, but she'd also noticed the corn which my chickens hadn't yet got round scoffing. She obviously thought that what was sauce for the goose was also sauce for the .... er ..... pheasant and tucked in. <br />
<br />
Pom-Pom noticed a strange pair of feet in her limited field of vision, took a couple of steps towards them, then thought better of it. After a while, Irene noticed the intruder too. She sauntered to the edge of the lawn, took a long, hard look at the pheasant and decided she had better things to do than chase strangers. But that was it. If any of the rest of them noticed the foreigner in their midst, they were far too polite to say anything. Fizz didn't even see her.<br />
<br />
She kept glancing at me but as I stayed still, she kept right on eating. When there was nothing much left, she rejoined her parents.<br />
<br />
Her mum and dad are usually just outside my garden at around 4 pm every day. So I've got into the habit of throwing them a handful of corn. The cock pheasant now comes running over when he sees me, but the hen is a bit more reticent. So he calls her over. As he's pecking away at the corn he chunters, just like Fizz does when he's telling the girls he's found something nice for them (even though it's often just a dead leaf).<br />
<br />
I wonder if Miss Pheasant will make a habit of dropping in for afternoon tea?<br />
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Mucky Cluckers - on Twitter @muckycluckers and on Kindle toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14682022812948375429noreply@blogger.com4