RIP Mad Irene

When 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!

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!

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.

Irene considers the apple Tu-Tu has is rightfully hers!

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.

We shall miss Mad Irene enormously, but what joy and laughter she brought into our lives.

What 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.

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.

Pom-Pom surveying the world from her favourite spot

So as you can imagine, it came as quite a surprise to discover that she can see much, much better than we realised.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

What a brave bantam!

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.  

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.   

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.   

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.

Hmmmmm.  Is that just the hint of a smirk I see playing around the edges of Punk's beak?

If you mess with Punk, expect trouble

Off with the old, on with the new

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.        

A 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Head on crash

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

In the end, the pair of them gave up and wandered off to find alternative stockpiles to demolish independently.

A tribute to Titian

This has been a difficult blog to make myself write.  We have lost Titian.

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.

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.

As I watched them, I couldn't help remembering Titian and her antics over the years; before long I found myself smiling.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.