Flying kites

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.  

But Irene was taking no chances.   After all, for all she knew these Kites might have fancied chicken for a change.

Kindred spirits

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.

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.

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.  

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.   

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.

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.

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.

"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.

So what did the bloody pheasant do?  Came straight over and happily ate from my son's hand.

Men!!!!!

Bosom pals

I've never had a chicken sit on my bust before, but this afternoon Pom-Pom did just that!   I blame Punk.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

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.

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!

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.

Then I tootled back to the house to check my bra and its contents for damage.

Drop by any time

If I needed any confirmation that chickens and pheasants belong on the same family tree, I got it yesterday.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

I wonder if Miss Pheasant will make a habit of dropping in for afternoon tea?

I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down

In my last post,  I told you how my chickens ran away from home at the first opportunity.   They have been put to shame by a friend's hens, who stayed put even when their home was falling down around their ears.

Earlier this week, Nugget, Penny and their sisters found themselves right in the middle of some typically British Spring weather.   Gale force winds, driving rain, freezing cold - that sort of thing.

The strength of the wind was such that it blew the whole side of the coop off!   The impact of the wood as it hit the ground was so great, it broke.   Nugget was in the nest box at the time, but got such a fright she shot out of what was left of the coop, screeching her head off.  Understandable really.

Susan effected temporary repairs, but had to call in reinforcements to make sure the chicken house was made totally safe again.  Enter Susan's husband.  

But in the meantime, Nugget had unfinished business and some things won't wait.   So despite the precarious state of her home, she went back inside and settled down.   By now Penny also had her legs crossed, so she squeezed into the nest box with her sister.   Said husband waited patiently for the pair of them to get their eggs laid before starting work on the coop.  But there are some things a girl simply cannot do in a hurry.  Laying eggs is one of them.

In the end, the repair was carried out properly and efficiently, despite loud protests from the occupants inside.  After all, some people have to get back to their proper job.

I am lost in admiration for Nugget and Penny.   Despite having to put up with the racket from the weather and the noise and inconvenience of the repair man, they knew where their duty lay.  In the nest box, providing tomorrow morning's breakfast.  And nothing was going to stop them!

Ladies, I salute you.




With thanks to Susan and her girls

A wake up call

No. 1 Son is away on a well-deserved holiday, so the task of opening the chicken coop at some unearthly hour every morning has fallen to me recently.   And I am not a morning person.

Off I staggered this morning, opened them up, fed them and replenished their water.  I half listened to Titian giving me the latest gossip while I poo-picked.  The flock looked fit, healthy and were tucking into their breakfast with gusto.  All was well with their world, so I left them to it.

We have a padlock on their run gate, which is kept locked.   I carefully turned the key, pocketed it and went back to the house for a nice cup of tea.

If I just want to just check on the chickens, rather than sitting in the garden with them, there's a part of the fence I can lean on.  It allows me to look down into the run without actually having to go into the run itself.  So after breakfast I decided to go and have a quick peep at them.   I was horrified to discover that they were all missing!  Every - single - one.

The run gate was closed, so they had obviously been stolen by someone hoping to leave the place looking perfectly normal to the casual glance.   I raced down into the garden, dreading what I might find.  One part of me hoped and hoped they were all just being silly and were simply hiding in the smoking shelter.  But why would they do that?

I ran down the steps, rounded the corner and ..........  There they were - clustered together on my side of the gate, patiently waiting to be let back in!   I opened the gate, they stampeded back inside and headed straight for their food dishes.

I bet you're wondering how this could have happened, aren't you.  Well I did mention that I am not a morning person.  Please bear that in mind.

When I left the chicken run, as I've mentioned I carefully locked the padlock that secures the gate.   What I did not do, in my somnambulant state, was slide the bolt across first.  Neither did I close the bolt at the bottom.  So the gate was not secured in any way at all, even though it was closed!

After I had returned home and was supping my first cuppa of the day, along came a gust of wind and blew the gate open.   "Whoopee" chorused the Cluckers and made a dash for Freedom.   Then that perfidious wind blew the gate shut and they were all stuck outside.   They had a whale of a time!   They had access to all the places they are not usually allowed to visit.

So I now have pebbles from the path and one of the borders strewn all over the patio area.     My lawn is adorned with bark that originally surrounded the dwarf fruit trees.  These trees are now surrounded by the holes the chickens dug with gay abandon.  It's a similar story in the rose bed, except that the bark from that area is mostly covering the steps I had raced down earlier.

For some odd reason they left the daffodil bed and another flower bed alone.  I suspect they would have got round to them later, but someone heard me coming.   That was the signal for them to rush over and huddle round the gate looking forlorn and innocent.

Maggie missed out on all this.  She had gone into the coop to lay an early morning egg and was still there when I ushered everyone back into the run.  However she did come out to see what all the kerfuffle was about.   Unfortunately she left the nest box a shade too soon.  Her egg hadn't had time to dry before she stood up and walked away.  Consequently, it was stuck to her abundant Orpington bum feathers.   It looked very decorative, but I thought I'd better remove it before it got broken.

So today I have learned the hard way:  when you are solely responsible for looking after the pets you write about all the time - WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!

“Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible.” *

Those of you who have been following this blog for a while will be well aware that Fizz harbours a secret passion for Titian.   Well, not all that secret if I'm honest.

Fizz being a handsome bantam

Time and time again, Fizz has fluttered his wings and danced up to the chicken of his dreams, only to have those dreams shattered.  To say he's been spurned, rebuffed and rejected would be putting it mildly.   He's been on the receiving end of furious glares.   He's had his beak pecked.   He's been thwacked into the middle of next week.   Any other suitor would have given up long ago, but not Fizz.

Titian is big, beautiful and twice Fizz's size.

It was such a lovely sunny day yesterday that we took our tea down into the garden, opened the run gate and let the chickens out to ruin the lawn.  Before too long, Titian decided that a nap was in order.  She found a nice warm spot in the dust bath area, made herself really comfy in the soft warm earth and snuggled down.  It had the benefit of warmth radiating off the dry stone wall, which she faced so she could enjoy the extra heat.

It didn't take long before her eyes drooped shut.  It took only a little longer than that for Fizz to realise that his golden opportunity had finally, finally arrived!   Before any of us realised what was happening he had raced over and jumped on Titian's back.  It took a fair bit of skilful manoevering because as well as being taller than him, Titian is quite a bit longer too.   But the lad actually managed to get the right bits of their joint anatomies in the right places.  Bingo!

Titian was so astounded by this unexpected interruption to her snooze that she simply stood up looking dazed - losing Fizz, who slid off.

But it just goes to prove, doesn't it, that dreams can come true.

 * Albert Einstein