Day 117. New Year's Eve.

Bush eggs: empty. Nest box eggs: empty. Feed hopper: empty. Heart: empty.

I visited Grey Gun briefly this morning to tell him I couldn’t see him for a while. He asked if I was going on holiday and I just said “No” and walked away. He seemed strangely calm but I could tell he was hurting.

I spent the rest of the day in the nest box nursing my wounded heart. There was no egg laid and no one has noticed my absence.

I am alone.

Day 116.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty.

I went and saw Grey Gun this morning but after much careful thought and deep heart examinations I have concluded that Grey Gun and I could not have a satisfying and normal relationship. He’s a really great guy and I would like to remain friends but fundamentally we are incompatible. I found out this morning (and it came as a big shock) that Grey Gun has an intolerance to chicken pellets, which cause bloat and could actually kill him! Well, I couldn’t really fathom a relationship with someone I couldn’t share my pellets with. So… it pains my heart to say it, but it’s over.

Day 115.

Mark. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Hours spent thinking about Grey Gun: about eight of the waking ones.

Saw Grey Gun for lunch today, and had a really pleasant time again. I made some hints but he hasn’t said anything about any kind of commitment to each other. I’ll just play it cool, que sera sera and all that.

Brian’s second-born, Mark, is a funny one, such a natural-born leader. He always seems to have good ideas that the others are quite happy to tag along with. He often organises them into duck-taunting raids or chasing Paula, and good things too like looking after Steve’s only chick while Steve is laying. He’s definitely one to watch.

Day 114.

Poetic Grey Gun. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full. Hours of sleep: three. Lice: zero; visits to Grey Gun: two.

I just can’t help myself. Not seeing him yesterday only made it worse, I kept thinking about him all day. At night I was restless and couldn’t sleep until the wee small hours in the morning. Then I had this most amazing dream. Grey Gun and I were galloping and flapping down the beach and chasing each other over the sand dunes. And in the dunes... Oh my feathers, I can’t even begin to write about that! Anyway, the dream was so vivid that I actually fell off the perch! I decided that since I was up and now very much awake I would quietly wander over to see him. He didn’t know I was there – I just kept quiet and watched him eat... and his rippling muscles... and his gently flowing mane. It inspired me to write this poem:

A Poem about Grey Gun by Ruby
Grey Gun runs like the wind
Muscles rippling
Sweat dripping.

Grey Gun stands in the sun
Ears pricked
Mane whipped.

Grey Gun grazes the sweet grass
Incisors munching
Molars crunching.

Grey Gun sleeps in the night
And dreams...
of Ruby.


Phew, great poetry is such heart-pumping stuff!

Day 113.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full.

I definitely won’t be going to see Grey Gun today as I have lice. “A hen with lice is not very nice” is an old chicken-dating saying and I think it holds true. Hang on; dating... did I say dating? Are Grey Gun and I dating? I certainly love seeing him and I think about him ALL the time but... he hasn’t said anything about dating and I really mustn’t be too forward. I’m not sure guys like girls to be too assertive. They may SAY that they like it but why do they look so terrified when they get it?

Jack’s been keeping a close eye on me but he has no right to be jealous, he’s not my boyfriend, he’s not my husband – he’s my SON!

I asked around, and embarrassingly it seems I am the only one affected with lice – time for a nice long dust bath.

Day 112. Boxing Day.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Post-Christmas tummy aches: all of us.

Grey Gun came to see ME today! That was a real surprise. He looked lovely, all brushed and gleaming. The female person was on his back again and Grey Gun had kind of a natty little strappy thing on his face. It allows him to communicate with the female person and tell her which way he is going to go and how fast etc.

Jack and the Boys were terrified of Grey Gun at first – they thought he was the biggest dog they had ever seen. But I was able to do introductions all around. That tart Steve thinks Grey Gun is “HOT!” What the cluck is that supposed to mean? He wasn’t even particularly sweaty.

Day 111. Christmas Day.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – a wee Christmas bonus. Feed hopper: full. Christmas carols sung badly by the female person: all that she attempted.

Loads of people here today for what they call ‘Christmas’. It seems to be a celebration of food where the people all gather around food and eat too much food and then give presents of food to each other, then eat more food, then look like death in the late afternoon (and in the case of one of The Little People, throws up food), then after a short nap they start preparing food again. It’s sort of a marathon food love-in. Weird. The good thing about it is all the foodie treats we get!

Consequently I spent much of the day in or around the treat bowl. Too busy to see Grey Gun.

Day 110

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full.

Went and saw Grey Gun today. I was telling him about Matthew and his Rubber Person gag but he didn’t really get it. Not much of a funny guy is our Grey Gun, but so kind and interesting and GOOD-LOOKING.

Hello, looks like a bunch of people are turning up for some kind of event. I hope Rodent Dog isn’t joining us.

Day 109.

Matthew. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Crazy, hilarious young roosters: at least one.

Tried to go and see Grey Gun today but he was out with the female person for most of the day (strangely, she was on his back, not walking beside him as usual – that must itch Grey Gun terribly). So I hung around the chicken run and observed my little family closely, as I often do for the pleasure of it. Now, Brian’s first-born (by a good few breaths), Matthew, is a bit of a laugh; he’s always doing silly things or telling us jokes. Today he had us in fits with his interpretation of a Rubber Person, flapping and lolling about like his bones were made of jelly (or more like rubber, come to think of it). I don’t know where he gets his ideas but he’s hilarious, a joy to be around.

Day 108.

Family man Grey Gun. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full.

Saw Grey Gun again today – have completely forgiven him for being the cause of our house downsizing. We talked about our likes and dislikes. He dislikes tight girths apparently (I think that’s some kind of horsey person). I said I didn’t like being related by blood to the only rooster around as it meant I couldn’t have chicks. Grey Gun said he would like a family one day but that he thought he wasn’t capable as he vaguely remembers something terrible happening to his boy bits when he was very young.

I told him it was probably nothing and he would make a great father. (I wonder what our children would look like?)

Day 107.

Handsome Grey Gun. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Dapples on Grey Gun’s left knee: five.

Visited Grey Gun this morning and we had a great long chat about our lives. He’s done so much and seen so much it makes me feel very naive. He’s very handsome, a sort of light grey with both dapples and spots – most unusual apparently. He says he’s not looking his best as another horse in his last paddock chewed his mane, but I think he looks fabulous. And he’s just so easy to talk to.

Day 106.

Dog: looks gormless, IS gormless. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

Like the horsey, nice horsey, good horsey. There is a small rodent-like dog that turns up occasionally with its people (relatives of our people). Today it turned up and chased us like mad. Chased me halfway down the drive and through the bushes and was closing in, with its small jaws snapping, when I ran between four great, grey tree trunks, then one of the tree trunks stomped and sent Rodent Dog whimpering back to its people. I looked up and there was big Horsey winking kindly at me. I stayed for a bit of a chat and it turns out that he’s not crazy about dogs either, but is happy to share his horsey pellets with chicken friends any time. His name is Grey Gun and I have promised to visit again soon. Hmmm - perhaps I was too hasty with the ‘dumb and stubborn label.

Day 105.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Positive attributes of horses: none that spring to mind.

Okay, it took me a while to get over it, but I’m fine now. The female person has a horse and I’m fine with it.

I have no idea why she would want something as dumb and stubborn and useless as a horse (no eggs, remember) but there it is – a HORSE.

Day 104.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Nest box poos: too many. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

The female person now has a horse.

Day 103.

The old chook house, now the new horse house! Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

We went for a bit of a walk down the drive today and what did we find? Our old chicken house! We tried to get in for a look to see what the people are doing with it but they had boarded up the chicken door! Rude!

Anyway the others went back home in disgust but I kind of slunk into the bushes so I could watch what those people were up to. I saw old leathery things and brushes and rugs go into the shed, and finally a big bag of pellets with a picture of a HORSE on it. I can hardly believe it – the female person doesn’t even have a horse!

The Boys slept in the nest boxes again last night.

Day 102.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – I just thought I would give the new nest boxes a spin. Feed hopper: full. Pooey nest boxes later that night: all three, yuck!

New house seems comfortable enough – perch a bit low, nest boxes a bit small, window a bit high to see pond. The Boys all slept in the nest boxes last night, gross mess this morning. Fortunately the female person had collected my egg promptly; otherwise it would have been covered in filth – or worse! Hopefully it’s the last time the Boys do that.

Day 101.

The new chook house. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full (again.)

Oh no! Oh no! The feed hopper wasn’t the only change the female person has decided to make. No! She’s... taken... our... HOUSE!!!

What to do?! Where will we sleep?!!

Later... mmm... new chicken house has just been erected by The Old One. Looks nice enough, view over pond, three cozy nests, but VERY small.

Day 100.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full (groan). Sick chickens: all of us!

I’m so over the new feed hopper, I can hardly move for completely overstuffed crop. I mean that’s supposed to be the point of an automatic feed hopper, right? Self-discipline with pellets. Well, I blew it! Fortunately I’m not the only one. Everyone is suffering but I think John is actually about to explode.

Day 99.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – to show general appreciation. NEW feed hopper: full. Fastest pecker (sounds a bit rude): John.

Wow, we have a new and definitely improved feed hopper. It’s bigger, it’s cleaner, it’s more mouse and bird proof and it comes in a fetching shade of dull silver. We’ve all been trying it out, especially John, and the counter-balanced lid/pedal thingummy works like an engineering marvel. Up, down with the pedal, peck, peck, peck. Down, up with the lid, peck, peck, peck. Fantastic!

Day 98.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty.

The female person gave the broody box a good clean out and fumigate today which is good. Guess I won’t pull that stunt again.

Day 97.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: just dust. Good eggs gone bad: one.

Oh clucker! That egg I laid in the broody box three weeks ago has gone rotten and been broken. The smell is indescribably awful. What was I thinking? The people NEVER check for eggs in there!

Day 96.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: really just scraps left now.

Steve was telling me the most extraordinary story today, I’m not even sure she wasn’t joking. She said her and Brian’s mother (I had no idea Steve and Brian were sisters – oops) used to get put in a cage and get taken to a huge room full of other chickens in cages. The chickens would stare all day at people passing the cages and would judge the people for different things like worst anorak, smelliest baby, bouffiest hairdo etc. Apparently it was quite exciting: all the roosters would crow at the same time, and some hens couldn’t hang on and would have to lay eggs with all those other chickens watching and all the people going past. At some stage during the day a person in a white coat would haul each chicken out of its cage, eyeball it, spread its tail and wing feathers and have a jolly good grope around the chickens private poultry place. Really, it doesn’t sound legal! Anyway, after all these indignities some chickens would get a coloured ribbon thing on the front of their cage. Big deal. Give me non-tampered-with privates over a coloured ribbon any day. At the end of that long day all the chickens would go home, only to repeat the same daft process the next year. It must have been a bit of a nightmare. It seems pointless and disruptive. So, like I said before, I’m not even sure I believe Steve’s story at all.

Day 95.

Jack looking smart. Or smug...? Photography by F L Campbell

Back to normal bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: pretty much empty. Secret Undercover nest detectors and all round smart roosters: one.

To be honest I’m not all that sad that the Secret Undercover nest didn’t work out. I’m obviously too old (my knees ached all night from sitting after only three hours yesterday). Steve’s just had her chicks so it’s a bit too soon for her, and Brian really does have her wings full with those Boys of hers. I know, I know, it was a truly feather-brained scheme, but it was fun for a while. Jack’s pretty good-natured about it too. He said he knew something was up the first night Brian didn’t return home, and then he secretly followed me to the nest yesterday. When we told him about the awesome acronym he came up with one of his own. Over much falling about laughing he finally managed to cough out: M.O.O.N – Most Often Obvious Nest. Whoa! He’s MUCH smarter than he looks.

Day 94.

Not so S.U.N.ny eggs: discovered! Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full. Disappointed hens: three.

We’ve been sprung! I was just coming back from the Secret Undercover nest, walking all casual like, sidling up to Steve for the swap, when Jack came over. “Oi, you lot! I want to talk to you.” (He sounded like one of those awful low class chicken breeds – a Dorking perhaps.) “What’s going on?” he said. “Never mind, I already know,” he said “And I told you all NO CHICKS!” Well, Steve could hardly leave after that, could she? So now the eggs are Stony. Cold. Dead! Jack’s obviously smarter than he looks.

Day 93.

S.U.N. eggs: no more for now. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full.

I love laying eggs but Steve, Brian and I have temporarily stopped so we can concentrate our efforts on our Secret Undercover nest. My shift was the early morning one and the hand-over to Steve went well. Jack doesn’t suspect a thing.

Back to eggs. Yes, I love that overfull feeling and slight pain at the base of the tail that tells you it’s time to find a quiet spot. Then that lovely business of sorting out the nest so it’s just right (you don’t want a bit of hay poking you in the egg hole at the wrong moment – no!) Then that pushin’ and pantin’ and restin’ and resumin’ and then POP! The trick is to crouch at just the right height: Too low: egg can’t come out. Too high: broken egg. It’s definitely an art, not a science.

Day 92.

S.U.N. eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Conditions for sitting: perfect.

One last egg and the nest is finally ready for sitting. We have nine eggs (a very manageable number) and I’m on first duty, so I will just casually disappear for three hours or so.

Later... hmm, a bit bored, maybe I am too old for this after all. Must stick with it. Must stick with it.

How about a poem:

A Poem about Sitting by Ruby
I love sitting on eggs
Except for the pain in my legs
The pain is a strain
And goes straight to my brain
Then I walk like on two drunk pegs.

A good effort considering the uncomfortable position I’m in, I reckon. Brian is doing the first overnighter. Steve and I hope to hem Jack in on the perch so Jack won’t notice Brian’s absence.

Day 91.

S.U.N. eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Uncharitable thoughts about Jack: plenty.

I’m still brassed off at Jack for reading my diary and poking fun at me. At least I write – he just bonks, eats and preens.

The Boys and Paula were playing a game which involved going through the tangle of blackberry at the back of the garage. Paula didn’t want to go through so all the Boys stood around her calling her ‘chicken’. I’m not sure I understand as Paula (like the Boys and myself) is a chicken - there’s no denying it - and it doesn’t make going through the blackberry any less scary.

The secret nest is going well.

Meanwhile Steve, Brian and I have been playing a game of our own with my Awesome Acronym. “How’s the S.U.N. Ruby?” “The S.U.N. is warm, Steve.” “Your turn for a sit in the S.U.N. Brian?” all said in front of a completely oblivious Jack.

Day 90.

S.U.N. eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

Jack (the perving cock) has just read yesterday’s journal entry about summer (luckily I caught him in time before he read anything else and find out about our Secret Undercover nest!) He said I was “verbose, loquacious and overblown”. I have no idea what he’s going on about. I am simply a wordy birdy who rather appreciates a warm day, a S.U.N.ny day lol. He did however mention that he was happy that I was happy with his morning ministrations and that he liked it best when it was a two-way exchange. Interesting, I really didn’t think roosters gave a damn about what hens thought in that area.

Lucky I had used a secret code for our Secret Undercover Nest otherwise yesterday’s diary entry would given everything away!

Day 89.

S.U.N. eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Weather: wonderfully warm.

Oh summer, what wondrous heat you bring to my heart, you make me feel like a spring chicken again – only hotter.

I love summer – the craziness of spring has gone and a slower, more relaxed pace descends upon everything like a big, overfull crop. And I love being warm; the warmth flows through my body and fills me with well-being. I feel kind to myself. I feel kind to the world. I feel kinda kinky! The rush of new life is replaced with the enjoyment of living and loving. Any aches in my body, mind or spirit vaporise with the heat. I feel invincible; I feel sexy; I feel young again. I don’t even mind being ‘ticked off’ Jack’s list in the mornings.

Day 88.

Secret Undercover bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none – definitely not. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Cunning, undercover, secret-egg-laying chicken agents: three.

This is a load of fun – we each sneak off as usual to lay eggs but they are definitely all in the same nest this time. I have to saunter off in the direction of the nest box, then when Jack isn’t watching I slip down the bank to our secret nest. When we each rejoin the flock after laying in this lovely nest we just give the other two co-conspirators the merest suggestion of a wink - a slight raising of the third eyelid to indicate success. Sneaky.

I have also come up with an Awesome Acronym for us: S.U.N. (Secret Undercover Nest). Wicked!

Day 87. Eearly Summer.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

Steve, Brian and I have decided to collectively lay and sit on a clutch of eggs in a very private spot we have found. We thought this way we could each disappear for some of the day and between the three of us keep the eggs well covered, but not have our absences noticed by Jack. Apparently I’m not the only one who has suggested another family of chicks just to be turned down by His Royal Roosterness. But a hen’s gotta do... and three hens can do it better!

Day 86.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – a present. Feed hopper: full.

The people arrived home late last night so this morning I laid them an egg in the nest as a little treat and a welcome-home present. I miss their presence when they are not around and that busy-ness that they bring to the house and gardens. With them back home, however, I feel that life is as it should be.

Day 85.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

I’ve just realised (all this thinking about eggs etc.) that the female person didn’t ever lay eggs OR sit on a nest but she does have two little people. Her crop grew VERY large before each of the little ones appeared but I just thought she’d been over-indulging on people pellets. It’s funny, I’ve been studying people for most of my life and I’ve learned a vast amount in that time but they are more complex than they appear. I still have many unanswered questions about their life cycle and habits. Perhaps Unipeck will run a course on People Studies.

Day 84.

"Broked it!" Photography by Mark Richter

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Weather: an unexpectedly cold day – good for writing poetry.

The people have arranged for someone to check on us and keep the feed hopper full – that’s nice, better service than when they are home!

That first egg of mine that I was reminiscing about yesterday came to a tragic end when the female person’s first-born (who was very young at the time) found it and dropped it. Strangely the female person was very proud as apparently the little person had just said his first sentence: “Wow, eggy, oops, broked it.” She didn’t seem to care at all that the “little darling” had “broked” my first egg!

Anyway, after spending perhaps too much time thinking about the all-purpose (and I mean ALL purpose – poo, eggs, seamen (in and out!)) egg hole/cloaca that booth roosters and hens have, I came up with this offering. It’s more bad-ass rap than poetry – not a genre I have delved into much:

Cloaca by Ruby
Cloaca, I’m an egg maker
Roosta’s got one too – but
He’s just a faker
Gotta egg comin’. Behind’s gonna shak-a
Egg’s comin’ out. Comin’ out my cloaca.

Day 83.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

I still have a sore egg hole. It reminds me of the first egg I ever laid. I didn’t really know what was driving me to make a nest under the box thorn hedge (I had no mother to guide me, remember). But make it I did. There I sat, and when I felt this huge urge to push I tried to get out of my beautiful nest because I didn’t want to ‘fowl’ it (as the people would say, oddly). Yes, I honestly had no idea; I just thought it was an extra large poo. When I turned around and saw I had laid this lovely egg I almost burst with pride. But my egg hole hurt that night too.

The people call our egg holes cloaca. It’s a funny word – not much rhymes with cloaca: did I wake ya… I’m a cake baker… I love the paintings of Degas… And the songs of Suzanne Vega (not really!)… Hay maker… hmmm, I shall have to sleep on it.

Day 82.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – but not a pretty one! Feed hopper: full. Number of plants accidentally scratched from pots: six.

I tried to be careful with the pot plants, but it was so fun turning the soil that I got a bit carried away. Some of the plants seemed to fall out with very little provocation too. And well, once they were out it seemed right to eat some of the tastier bits. If I’m honest it all looks a bit messy up by the house. Oh well…

And I didn’t even finish what I set out to do - I was going to continue the good work I was doing with the pot plants when I felt an egg coming on (not a huge surprise) so off I wandered; got down to work and laid the biggest, roughest, grittiest monster egg ever! Consequently I am now very sore and cannot make it back to the pots to turn the rest of the soil. I hope the people don’t mind. Oh and the egg was an ugly sucker too. I’m a wee bit ashamed to tell the truth.

Day 81.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Scheming chickens: me.

Hello... looks like the people are going away – and all of them this time, not just the big ones. Must be time to be a helpful hen, do the people a favour and turn the soil in the pot plants up by the house. Always best to do it without an audience as it takes concentration.

Day 80.

The ducks posing? Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

We were bored today so we went down to the pond for an explore. I don’t really like going down there, as it is the domain of the ducks (stupid things). But anyway there we were when the ducks came up and asked what we were doing. “Scratching,” I said. “For what?” they said. “Bugs,” I said. “Cool,” they said and waddled away. See what I mean? Ducks: stupid!

Interestingly The Female Person was around the pond with her camera and if I didn’t know better I could have sworn that at one stage the ducks struck a pose for her.

A Poem about Ducks by Ruby
Ducks are intensely stupid; it’s amazing that they float
I put it down to the glossiness of their thick, white coat
But if you wanted a duck in power I simply wouldn’t vote
Because around their brain (the size of a sand grain),
They’ve built an impenetrable moat.

It’s tricky changing tempo halfway through a poem, but it often gives it that element of surprise and interest that sets it apart. We did a course on it at Unipeck and I attended most of those classes.

Day 79.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

The female person and someone I didn’t recognise were out gardening today. They were pulling out perfectly good plants like dandelions and chickweed and putting those useless disgusting-tasting succulent things in. Still, the upside was they tipped all the dandelions etc. down the bank and we had a good scratch through them. It was quite fun and deliciously rewarding.

The constant changing of plants is one of many strange habits the female person has. Just when things are looking lovely in the garden – dandelions coming into seed, chickweed looking juicy, blackberries fit to burst – she goes and pulls them all out and replaces them with something small, pathetic and inedible. Even the plants she’s just planted will eventually be ripped from the ground and changed too. I wonder if it is just our female person who likes constant change or if it is a people thing. They are peculiar…

Day 78.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Dead lice under the perch: more than I care to count.

On an interesting note all our mites and assorted crawlies were on the floor – dead! How very odd. But I had a good long dust bath anyway – a hen can’t be too clean.

Day 77.

Sam in (questionable) fashion mode. Photography by Susan Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full – yeehar.

Yuck. We were fast asleep last night when suddenly there were lights and noise and grabbing hands – Jack first, then me, Steve, Brian, Paula, the Boys (the chick was hiding, so luckily missed out). We were each picked up, up ended, dusted with some sort of smelly powder and put back on the perch. The people do it all gently and with love, but it is still very humiliating and pointless.

Jack won’t admit it but he likes having a cuddle with the female person after he’s been powdered. She gives him a tickle between his wattles and it makes him squirm with pleasure. It’s not natural, those cross-species attractions. Sam was a bit the same with The Female Person apparently. Shockingly he even used to let her dress him up!

Day 76.

Bush eggs: half! Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Sore muscles from laughing: four different sets.

I’ve never laughed so much in my life! We were all just scratching around under the pines this morning when Brian went off to lay an egg as usual. Not much later she came flapping back all in a dither. “It just fell out!” she shrieked. “I didn’t even push much.” We all took off to her hidey-spot and there in the nest was the smallest chicken egg I have ever seen. It was pathetic! I had heard tell of these ‘wind eggs’ but thought they were make-believe. But honestly, it was about the size of a sparrow’s egg!

We were all standing around, just staring at it, when one of the Boys tried in vain to suppress a giggle and instead snorted. Well, that set us all to hysterical laughing really. We couldn’t stop! Brian went off in a huff but it was worth it for the excellent time we had at her expense. Oh my... it was SO small.

Day 75.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: still empty. Ruby: one – Bug: zero!

I was still feeling light-headed (birdbrain lite!) from no pellets and wasn’t doing a very good job of scratching when I came across one of the biggest, juiciest wetas I’ve ever had the pleasure to masticate.

You have to be careful when trying to eat the overgrown grasshopper that is the New Zealand weta. You have to try to stab them in the back otherwise they can wrap their legs around your face (which is truly creepy) and maybe even deliver a wicked kick or two to your head with their strong back legs. If you get it right it is worth the trouble though – delicious subtle flavours and surprising textures in a challenging big bug bite.

Day 74.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty.

Be still my beating heart. We saw a cat creeping up on us today, so we set up a right cacophony of cackling. But this was no ordinary cat – it seemed to know that chickens aren’t capable of much more than cackling in alarm. It knew we wouldn’t fight so it came up really close and we had to scramble for the protection of the thorn bushes.

Why can’t chickens fight cats? We’ve got sharp claws! We’ve got vicious beaks! We’ve got brains the size of a pea! Hang on; maybe I’ve answered my own question. Oh well, never mind. Look over there – a blade of grass, yum!

Day 73.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Number of overly confident young roosters: four.

The lack of pellets in the hopper has made everyone a bit on edge today. And Jack’s been having a few issues with his sons. Their spurs are just starting to grow and they love to saunter past Jack showing him their newly acquired spur buds. Drives him balmy, but he’s such a cool carrot that he keeps on doing what he’s doing, all unconcerned like. But be not fooled! Jack sees EVERYTHING! (Which is his job, after all – I mean, it’s not like he can lay).

Day 72.

Day 72. November 16
Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Emotional weather: bored.

Big long dust bath (v.g.)
Empty feed hopper (not at all g.)
Sunny and mild (g.)
A bit windy – me, not the weather (not g.)
Day overall: neutral.

Day 71.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: so low it’s not funny.

Arggh! Late spring and suddenly everyone is crawling! I don’t mean on their hands and knees – chickens don’t have hands and our knees face backwards. No I mean crawling with mites, lice and other unmentionable vermin. It was quite funny really, we all woke up terribly itchy, looked at each other, knew EXACTLY how everyone was feeling and all at once we bolted out of the house and were up to our necks in lovely cleansing dust bath sand before you could say, “Chicken Little was incredibly naive”. And all this before breakfast!

I feel much better and a lot less itchy now, but we will have to be vigilant for the next month or so.

Day 70.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: really low now. Pecks dished out to underlings to keep order and peace: nine (by breakfast!)

So, after reviewing why we have a peeking order yesterday, now let us review where am I in the pecking order. As I said I’m just where I should be, second to top after Jack. Not bad really for a humble chooky from Otooky. But I have to watch out; there were signs when I was moulting at the beginning of spring that Brian (number three) has an eye for my spot.

I also have to be careful now because my egg laying is a bit erratic and that is definitely an excuse for a good layer (like Brian) to usurp me. Must be on my guard!

Day 69.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: getting low.

These crow-offs for a higher place in the pecking order are very obvious, but most of the pecking-order reinforcements are quite subtle – a swift peck here, a shove there, who gets to lay in which nest, who sleeps next to Jack (ME!!), which hen is first out the door in the morning (ME), and who gets ‘ticked off’ Jack’s list first (me, sigh).

The pecking order doesn’t change until the individuals within it change. This can be by birth, death, first egg, first crow, sickness or rude good health. Then the others fill the vacuum in the pecking order left by that chicken.

Do chickens really need a pecking order? Of course. Without order there is chaos and with chaos comes shell-less eggs, empty feed hoppers and stressed-out chickens.

Day 68.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full.

More crow-offs between Jack and Luke. The usual rule is that the dominant rooster starts, gets off a few good ones, then the contender has a go and after that they’re off: crow for crow. However, today Jack and I were under the pines at the back of the house, the Boys were nowhere to be seen, and then “Cocka...ooo...oo,” we heard. Obviously the Boys had slipped around to the front of the house and Luke felt safe to challenge Jack again since he was out of sight. Jack’s head came up with a start, “That cheeky young chick,” he says before pumping himself up for a good long reply. Yesterday’s crow-off was a doddle but Jack had to put a bit of effort in today.

Day 67.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full.

Jack and Luke had a crow-off today. I thought Luke was taking a bit of a risk going for a crow-off while he’s still so young but he’s very bold.

A crow-off between roosters can be like two great titans clashing, but for Luke at this age it’s more of a rite of passage – a first taste of independence and the start of the long haul to the top of the pecking order. It would be easier if it was just Luke and Jack, but because there is also Matthew, Mark and John it’s going to be a long and often bloody battle. Anyway, that’s all in the future; Jack won this round, wings down of course!

Day 66.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Favourite eggshell colour at the moment: Half Spanish White.

Okay, okay, no more literary references like yesterday or historical quotes like the day before - I’m just a humble hen after all. It’s just that it’s been a bit slow around here lately.

Day 65.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Today’s topic of interest: food.

Mmmm... yum. How does she love us, let me count the ways:
Snippets of pastrami
Roundels of pasta
Scrapings of pot bottoms
Slivers of cheese
Slices of bread
An apple core
Two sandwiches
And a pinch of sesame seeds

One sumptuous treat bowl feast and a generous female person.

Day 64.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full.

“We pecked, we scratched, we existed.” Julia Teresa (Roman Hen 35BC). Sorry, folks – another slow day. Besides, I’ve got to use my hard-won Unipeck education somehow and what better way than by dropping a spurious historical quote?

Day 63.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Frustrated hens: one.

One of The Little People found Brian’s lovely nest that she had been cultivating and collected her nine eggs today. The female person and her Little Ones were out for a walk when the oldest little one spotted the nest. I guess he had a slight height advantage on his mother (being about half her height) and could see under the bushes. Brian is gutted and now has to start collecting a clutch of eggs together all over again – after finding an even more cunning nest site, of course.

The ducks raided our feed hopper today; their one must already be empty. We don’t have much to do with the ducks. You can’t tell them apart as they are identical so there is no point in remembering their names (which I have handily forgotten) and they move in such a hypnotic, rhythmic, waddling way that it mesmerises me and affects my ability to string a sentence together. So not much chicken/duck conversation happens.

Day 62.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full.

THAT was embarrassing! Because of last night’s Sky Hawks fiasco and not sleeping a wink, I couldn’t stay awake today. So there I was, innocently having (another) nap in the sun by the people house when the female person grabs me and jams me in the dreaded cage. Well, that woke me up good and proper! It seems that the female person was worried about me, what with all that daytime sleeping, and took me off to the vet for a check-up. I hate going to the vet but she was very caring and gentle and pronounced me “old, but healthy”. I thought the “old” bit was a tad on the beak! I’m really just hitting my stride. I’m in my prime! Laying fewer eggs has been a conscious choice and not due to any impending age-related issues such as henopause. But anyway, I’m home safe now and the female person looks reassured about my health and well-being.

Day 61. Guy Fawkes Night

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Number of heart palpitations from fright: countless.

Another boring but nice day ended just horribly.

There were a few quiet bangs during the early evening, which should have warned us. But no, it came as a total surprise when it was fully dark. We had all just nodded off and then there were huge explosions! Flashes of coloured light! Screaming sounds! Poppity, poppity, pop! All through the night. I didn’t get a wink of sleep. I feel dreadful; I really hate the people’s Sky Hawks Night.

Day 60.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Amount of time being bored and thinking about the weather: too much.

Boring day. Nice weather though.

Day 59.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Number of chickens who make a living from flying: none.

What a hoot. Luke went for an amazing fly today. He got a running start, then flapped like crazy and was airborne for fourteen heartbeats! And uphill too! We all cheered and he looked quite pleased with himself. Even Jack was impressed.

Day 58.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

I must say I did like laying in the broody box, just not the sitting part. It’s a nice wee box and very secure against bad chicken-eating animals. I don’t like to stay in there too long after the chicks are hatched as it gets a bit limiting in both space and interest, but it is a comfort to be so safe when the chicks are first born.

So even allowing for the fact that people and not chickens conceived the broody box concept, I think it is what we would make if we had those wacky opposable thumb things. Speaking of which – if I had something so cunning as an opposable thumb, I would like to think that I would treat it with a bit of respect rather than hitting it with a hammer at every opportunity like the female person did when she was making alterations to our home!

Day 57. Late Spring

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one - shits and giggles. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Time spent sitting on my egg: enough.

I decided to have a bit of fun and pretend to be broody. I went all dotty and clucky, then said to Jack, “Right, I’m off, see you in twenty-one days.” He looked very surprised. Brian looked skeptical. Anyway, I trotted off to the broody box and laid my egg. Then I sat for a while, but really, despite what I said earlier, unless you’re actually truly broody it’s pretty boring just sitting. And being in the broody box rather than in the bushes I had no view either.

When I got back to the flock everyone was real cool about my short-lived broodiness and didn’t say a thing.

Day 56.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

We went on a Great Gizzard Gravel Gather today. It was fun. Jack led us all the way down the drive, past the mountain and down to the small patch of gravel at the end, very near to the death strip that the people call a ‘road’ (we did NOT cross it). We all staggered back with full gizzards. One of the Boys did this crazy body-jerk thing, which made the gravel in his gizzard rumble like distant thunder. An enchanting party trick to be sure.

Gravel has uses other than party tricks though. Gizzards are naturally rough and this helps to grind up our food. But add a bit of gravel and the whole process is sped up – plus the added ground-up rocks help the shells of our eggs be super strong. I wonder if Steve appreciated THAT when she stomped on her eggs?

Day 55.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

Sure enough, The Old Ones left yesterday and today the feed hopper is no longer full. Not good! Still, it’s nice to see our people back.

Day 54.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Disrespectful members of the flock: the whole bloody lot of them!

I sure love being a mother and a grandmother, which is just as well as sometimes you are treated with such utter disrespect that it can really stretch that love.

The Old Ones called us to the treat bowl and we all came running but we were way down the hill and I was a bit slow getting back up (just out of breath, not old). Well, pluck my feathers if I didn’t arrive at the treat bowl (last) to find it completely EMPTY. The ungrateful, disrespectful, good-for-nothing bastards had eaten everything! No one would look me in the eye as they obviously realised how rude they’d all been. It made me sad and put me in a real funk until The Old One tracked me down later and hand-fed me a special treat – he had obviously appreciated how rude they’d all been and treated me with the respect I deserve.

Day 53.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

This place where we live (Pecka Pecka) is rather lovely. It is quite different from where I grew up (Otooky). I was one of nine hens raised in a small pen. Lots of different pens, with lots of different hens, all separated according to breed and colour (quite racist now when I think about it). A nice male person looked after us and made sure we were healthy and well fed but it was a strange existence.

We were born in a hotbox, we had no mother, no freedom, just waiting to be split up and sold off. It didn’t make for good lasting friendships. Still, I’ve really clucked in living here at Pecka Pecka. The Female Person chose me to join the tiny flock she had started. Until I came along she was buying chickens of fashion rather than chickens of substance – colourful, fanciful fowl with ugly hairdos, pathetic laying capabilities and the tendency to drop off the perch and die for no apparent reason other than severe inbreeding. I changed all that though. I was bred for elegance, egg-laying ability and excellent health. I haven’t let her down either (until very recently with a slight drop-off in egg production).

And here at Pecka Pecka I have freedom, friends and stability. I do miss the mother I never had though, and I suppose that is why I love being a grandmother and having young families around me.

Day 52.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Slightly rude cloud formations spotted while on my back in the dust bath: three.

Had a lovely dust bath today. Very cleansing. Very tiring.

Day 51.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

I wrote a great cat poem to complement yesterday’s entry. I was obviously dripping with poetry then but had to let it percolate overnight into something truly terrific:

Cats by Ruby
Cats are stealthy
Cats are quick
Cats have habits
That make me sick

Cats are mean
Cats are ferocious
And their attitude towards birds
Is really quite atrocious

(And by birds I mean chickens as well, of course).

Day 50.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Snappy sayings for the day: one, Knowledge = Power.

I hate cats (especially after what happened to Steve’s chick and myself recently). I mean, their people feed them, but still they feel the irresistible need to pounce on and eat anything that moves. It’s disgusting.

I actually have a friend who’s a cat. Well, not a friend really, more of an informer. A sleek little cat, lovely dark-brown fur, she’s cheeky and likes to alarm us but has never actually harmed us (I’m just dripping with poetry at the moment). I chat to her sometimes. Jack thinks I’m mad but Steve and Brian think I’m quite the brave hen. But mainly I’m friendly with her because it gives me insider knowledge of a cat’s one-track (killing) mind. Not that the acquired knowledge did any good the other day but it may save someone’s life in the future.

Day 49.

Blacky's 15th birthday. Photography by Susan Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – caused by fright. Feed hopper: full.

The wicked cat that took Steve’s chick had a go at ME today. It just came out of nowhere like a big tabby nightmare. It leapt on my back and tried to bite my head off. Luckily, in the heat of the moment I remembered a trick told to me by The Ancient One, Blacky, and ran under a low branch to swat the cat off! (She used it to great effect with amorous roosters). It was terribly effective. The whole episode gave me a huge fright and made my legs go all wobbly. I had to go and sit down in the dark, which explains the egg.

Day 48.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one (just to confuse The Old One). Feed hopper: full. Doubly unlucky bugs: one.

Good day, not much going on though. A bug got stuck in my throat at one stage, would have been a bit of a problem had not Jack chosen that very moment to mate me and the force of him leaping on from behind shot the bug out from my gullet. Just shows that even recreational sex can have a purpose after all.

Managed to eat the bug again too – it was trying to crawl away but being stuck in my throat must have stunned it, as it was an easy, tasty, SLOW target.

Day 47.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Emotional weather: a happy, relaxing day.

The adult people have gone away and left The Little People in the care of The Old Ones. I rather like The Old Ones as they pull the nasty prickly blackberry in the chicken run, give us lots of treats and always, ALWAYS keep the feed hopper full.

The male Old One, as I have mentioned before, is particularly wily at finding nests. They call him The Chicken Whisperer but he actually talks to us in his normal voice so it’s not a terribly accurate description. It’s a real challenge to keep eggs hidden from him. Wattles! He even finds nests WE’VE forgotten about!

Day 46.

Ruby. Oil on canvas by Bev Taylor

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Weird aspirations of small chicks: one.

To cheer up Steve’s lucky (hopefully) last chick I told it the story of when my portrait was painted. I had always known that the Female Person thought I was special and the portrait just confirmed it.

Anyway, one day the Female Person chased me with the camera – I was a bit reluctant to pose as I had just pigged out on pellets so my crop was huge and lopsided. I tried to give her my other side (which is my best anyway) but she kept on trying to position me so that the sun was in my eyes and then I would have to move or blink. She must have got what she wanted though because some time later she showed me this lovely painting of yours truly looking thoughtful and beautiful against a glowing background of golden straw. It was very nice, had great artistic merit and was apparently painted by this country’s premiere poultry painter (what a splendid and fulfilling subject to devote one’s life to). [From the Editor: This portrait is the background image used for this blog.]

Steve’s chick was suitably impressed with the story and seemed relaxed and happy afterwards. It even said something about wanting to be a painter when it grew up!

Day 45.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Poetic thoughts: zero.

The birds were singing their tiny brains out today. It was quite wonderful. Sometimes I wish I could sing and fly but I can’t so it doesn’t pay to dwell on it. What I can do, and they can’t, is lay two hundred and ten eggs a year! (Well, used to). A sparrow once told me she laid a whopping eighteen eggs in three clutches one summer; what a miserly effort.

Oh, and of course I can write wonderful poetry, too. But not today.

Day 44.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Amount of hope in the world: immense.

I’m not sure what Jack said but it worked: Steve is out, she’s smiling (as much as one can with a beak) and the sun is shining on a beautiful mid-spring day. Onwards and upwards my little hen friend.

Day 43.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Emotional weather: a sad day.

I remember when Paula’s and the Boys’ sister was killed. A hawk swooped down and took the dear little week-old chick in an instant and there was nothing we could do except stand around and squawk our heads off. Brian got over the loss of her little chick in time, but she had five others to keep her going.

That’s a really good plan for motherhood, not having only one chick at a time, spreading the risk. The people have a similar principle – “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket,” they say. I can never work out why they have the eggs in a basket in the first place though.

Steve stayed in the nest again today. Jack had a bit of a heart-to-heart with her at one point, but she’s not budging for now.

Day 42.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Weather: a blustery, trying day.

Steve had a rough night last night, as you would expect. She wishes she’d never had chicks and exposed herself to the vulnerability you feel being a mother.

She stayed in the nest the whole day. The only way we got the remaining chick out to scratch was by promising to surround it in a protective circle.

The weather didn’t help and everyone’s nerves were frayed.

Day 41.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – caused by shock! Feed hopper: full. Amount of grief in the world: immense.

A CAT has taken one of Steve’s chicks! Steve is DISTRAUGHT. Steve kept on saying she only turned her back for a moment but the chicks were getting “so independent” and “running off a lot”. It appears it was the little rooster who’d taken off to tag along with the Boys. It’s SO hard to get the balance right – you want to keep them under your wing and safe forever, but the day they are born you have to start letting them go. Independence is critical for the development of little chicks but they are so small and so fragile. The poor remaining chick is going to have a hard time growing up independent; ‘only’ chicks are often a bit strange/selfish from being overprotected.

Oh, poor Steve. Oh, Dear Me. Oh, WICKED cat!

Day 40.

 Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty.

Bit of a slow day, some nice treats in the treat bowl at one stage – pasta (my favourite), bread, an egg shell (!?) and an unopened lime. What the feathers were we supposed to do with the lime? The Boys kicked it around for a bit in a game they called “Greenball.” Not a very original name but a fun game to watch.

The treat bowl is up by the house and is where the Female Person puts all the people scraps. It’s always worth a wander past to see if anything has been quietly slipped in there, but if there is a real tasty treat on offer the Female Person gives us a call (“Here Chooky, Chooky, Chooky!” – also totally unoriginal) and we all come running. Brightens up a dull day.

Day 39.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty (finally), we must be off our food. Number of low notes successfully crowed by the Boys: none – yet.

The Boys’ crowing has certainly improved. They must be practicing in secret somehow as Jack won’t tolerate it openly now. They’ve got rhythm, they’ve got style, but they have no volume, lasting power, or depth. It’s going to be a treat (not for Jack though) when they are all in full voice.

Day 38.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: almost empty now. Pesky flies in the chicken house: a few now, more soon I’m sure.

Look, we tried and we tried hard but it is very difficult to always be thinking and calling for “Matthew! Mark! Luke! John!” Hensforth it is back to being “The Boys” (besides, they do seem to do everything collectively).

Steve’s chicks are growing rapidly. They are well behaved and rather lovely. The one with the dark stripe is also fond of following the Boys around – a rooster in the making, methinks.

Day 37.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: still a smidgen left. Total amount of food in the treat bowl: three raisins – pathetic.

Despite the lack of treats from them recently I do like people. They are like relaxing moving garden ornaments. They’re quite fascinating to study as well. They have a pecking order much like ours: male thinks he’s on top but female actually rules the roost. The Little People are way below but are always testing the order. People are also clean, low maintenance, and make lovely soothing sounds. But the best thing is when they run – it’s hilarious. The only annoying habit they have is collecting our eggs. I have no idea what they do with them but I wish they would keep their odd looking pink claws off them. Yet, if you’re ever looking for interesting and worthwhile pets I would highly recommend people.

Day 36.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: still not quite empty. Sneezes sneezed before breakfast: at least seven huge ones from me.

Oh dear, spoke too soon about everyone being in fine feather. I woke up this morning with a feather stuck to my nose. Not mine either. I checked around and Brian was looking rather worse for wear with a pile of feathers under her perch. And once one chicken starts moulting we all start soon after. It’s almost like it’s contagious. Never mind, the winter coat was getting a little warm and itchy.

Day 35.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: not quite empty.

Beautiful day. Good scratching’s were had by all. Everybody is in fine feather, and no visits by the (stupid) ducks. A perfect day! Actually the ducks have been keeping a very low profile lately, which is fine, of course. Usually they only come up if their feed hopper is empty for a while so I guess the female person has been keeping everybody’s feed hoppers pretty full, or more likely pretty empty but not for long.

Day 34.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full. Naughty tree roots: one.

Another boring day, relieved slightly at one point when Jack (who was strutting around with his beak in the air) tripped and fell. We knew that nothing but his pride was hurt so we had a good laugh at his expense. Mean, perhaps, but humour, after all, is about unfortunate events happening to chickens other than oneself.

Steve’s chicks had a good laugh too but got a severe pecking from Jack and myself for their troubles. Got to keep them in order.

Day 33.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Number of peek-a-boo games played with the chicks: too many to count.

Bit of a boring day today really. We got up, we ate pellets, we scratched all day, we ate more pellets, and we went to bed. Some days are a bit like that. Thank goodness for the chicks – they alleviated some of the boredom for us all.

However, in my busy schedule of nothing to do I did find time to write another terrific poem:

Boring Day by Ruby
It’s a boring day
If I had my way
We’d all be happy and gay
We’d keep the grumbles at bay
With a roll in the hay
And fresh eggs to lay
If I had a say
Come what may
We’d sit in a sunray
And be as happy as a jay.

Fantastic rhyming. It’s hard to sustain great rhymes AND get the rhythm right too. Takes real talent.

Day 32.

The Fabulous Jack. Photographed by F. L. Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Weather: quite warm today – nice.

He may be a meanie by not letting me have another family but I do love Jack. He’s tolerant and calm but very powerful. And handsome! Whew, if I were younger (and not his mother) I’d fall for him in a big way. He’s always been an affectionate boy too, snuggling up to me on the perch at night. I reckon that’s why he was spared and his brothers were ‘Sent Away’. When the female person came in the middle of the night with the dreaded cage his brothers were all sitting (and shitting) on the feed bins, but Jack was snuggled up to me on the perch where all good chickens should be of a night. “Right, he’s the one,” says the female person and I think she meant “the one to take over from Major and look after the hens”. It doesn’t seem right for a mother to play favourites but I think she made an excellent choice. I do miss my other sons though.

Day 31.

Bush eggs: two – Steve is laying again apparently. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

Oh, I get it now; it’s one of those weird, pointless people rhyming things (as opposed to a chicken rhyming poem, which is always brilliant.) ‘Matthew, Mark, Luke, John’ – that’s it, those are the names and the rest was just... fluff. Maybe the female person would have benefitted from Unipeck poetry classes.

Steve wants names for her chicks already but I told her that won’t happen until the people know whether the chicks are going to crow or lay.

Day 30.

Sunset Sam. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

The Boys’ names are in! It’s so exciting when the people finally come up with a chick’s name; the choices are usually surprisingly good. Anyway: ‘Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Hold, My, Horse, Till, I, Get, On’ are the names bestowed on the Boys. (A bit weird really considering there are only four Boys and what appear to be eleven names).

Talking of rooster names I always liked the one for Blacky's life partner (and brother). He was called Sunset Sam. A blaze of gaudy yellow and orange on his feathers and in his eyes and fire in his heart.  He was called Greedy to begin with but, as The Female Person was very young and not good at choosing names, her parents suggested waiting a while and trying again. The second effort was deemed perfect!

Day 29.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Amount of time spent in the dust bath: lots.

I found a great nest site today but Jack is keeping a close eye on me after our discussions. Will have to remember it though.

Steve was finally let out of the broody box and is having a great time with the chicks. She was tempted to join me in the dust bath but I convinced her that there was no room for her and her vulnerable chicks. Not strictly true but having the dust bath all to myself allowed me to indulge my loopy side and get totally on my back, legs in the air, dust flying – wonderful.

Day 28.

Bush eggs: zero. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

Well, Jack said no chicks but he didn’t say no sitting! I love sitting. There is something wonderful about hunkering down in a private spot (preferably with a view) and just sitting. I actually don’t mind if there are no eggs – it’s a lot more comfortable to be honest. Sometimes I make a game of it: sort out where the nest will be in the days before, then slip off early in the morning and sit and wait. First Jack doesn’t notice my absence, then he notices and calls out (I keep quiet of course), then he starts searching (in all the most unlikely places, I might add), then he gets really worried, and that’s when I casually saunter out for a drink. It’s cruel, I know, but it pays to keep the upper wing even if he thinks he’s in charge.

Day 27.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – caused by pique. Feed hopper: full. Stupid conversations with roosters in the last day or so: two.

Jack and I had a long talk about having a family last night but I just couldn’t convince him. He said I was too old, there were too many chicks already (he was counting Brian’s as well) and we were too closely related (mother and son, hmmmm not ideal). Too! Too! Too! It was all TOO much! I know he’s right but it doesn’t make it any less upsetting. I cried all night and my beak was horribly puffy in the morning. (Did you know that people cry tears from they eyes mostly and not just their nostrils? Weird, eh?)

Later I asked Jack if the fact that we couldn’t have a family would mean he would stop ‘ticking me off his list’ in the mornings but he said that recreational sex was still necessary for cordial relations between a non-breeding hen and rooster. Sounds like a rooster ruse to me!

Day 26. Mid Spring

Jack doing his Abbey Road impersonation. Acrylic on canvas by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Warm thoughts about chicks: many.

I love having the sound of chicks around again. Makes me long for my own. I must talk to Jack and see what he says. He’s as proud as an erect comb with his new little family.

Day 25.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

Steve and the chicks are fine; The Female Person has been feeding them lots of lovely little treats, just what they need. She also brought her own two chicks (we call them The Little People) down to see Steve’s chicks. They were obviously excited to see them but they were a little too enthusiastic and so BIG and CLUMSY. Afterwards Steve said she feared for the chicks’ lives but I think she was just being an over-anxious new mother. The Female Person is extremely careful with all of her fine feathered friends.

A full feed hopper for us too, and as a bit of a change from our usual fare of pellets, there are pellets and wheat mixed in together! Happy days!

Day 24.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty.

Steve brought her bundles of joy out for a long play today and we were at last able to get a good look at them; two little mid-brown chicks, one with a bit of black running down its back, both alive, both healthy. Steve is looking very proud and relieved.

Everyone came to have a good look and talk to Steve for the first time in nearly a month (honestly, they pretty much ignored her when she was on the nest – even Brian, whom I would have expected better of, only checked on her twice) and they all admired the chicks.

Talking of Brian, she gave me a peck today. I couldn’t believe it! Now she knows and I know that I am top hen. Steve having chicks doesn’t change a thing, sister! I had to give her a doubly hard peck back to end that little debate on dominance.

Day 23.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: almost empty – we had a bit of a knees-up last night. Birds song: particularly tweety this morning.

The Female Person moved Steve and her lovely, lively chicks to the broody box late yesterday. They stayed in the enclosed nest end all day so I could only cluck encouragingly to them through the chicken wire. The Female Person also covered Steve’s old nest with the dead chicks and the maggots, which was a great relief.

Day 22.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – caused by jubilation. Feed hopper: definitely half full. Proud fathers: One, Jack.

The worst sight any mother could see – that’s how I would describe it. I went to see Steve to share with her that her twenty-one days of sitting were up (actually it was twenty-two; sometimes first-time mothers take a bit longer but I didn’t want to alert Steve to that fact) but she was gone. The nest was empty of anything living and lovely but instead contained death and pestilence. Lots of broken and bloodied shells, three dead chicks, and maggots everywhere. Oh, the sight!

I was mesmerised. I couldn’t move. My heart was breaking. Then I heard Steve clearing her throat from some bushes not far away and as I turned to look she proudly stood up and displayed two fine chicks – alive and devoid of maggots.

Oh, happy day in the end.

Day 21.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full or maybe half empty – I can’t decide. Number of terrible things that can happen to vulnerable eggs: infinite.

I went to check on Steve again as it is not long to go now. She was shaking flies off her head, lots of them buzzing around. I didn’t like to say anything but there is definitely a whiff of corruption around that nest. I hope everything is all right but I fear the worst. It is such a worrying time for everyone (not that you would notice from those indifferent chickens that Steve calls family).

Lovely spring day today but still cold. Got a bit of a chill in the dust bath but Jack has snuggled up to me now so the warmth is creeping back in.

Day 20.

Marigold and the car. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: zero – a day off for the girls. Nest box eggs: zero – a day off for me. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Weather: Lovely sunny day.

Did not check on Steve (until VERY late in the day). She’s fine, looks a bit itchy but that will be the lice finally settling in with vengeance.

And what amused the Boys today, you might ask? Cars, of all the daft things. Their interest in cars reminded me of Marigold. She was a bit partial to cars too. Marigold was one of three very scruffy hybrid layer hens we had living here a while back. Marigold, Ginger and Taffy. Daft, Plain and Common I used to call them (not within earshot, you understand, except for the time I was talking to Major and didn’t see them coming up the hill – oops!). Still, they could really lay up a storm; six eggs in seven days, week after week.

Anyway, back to Marigold and her penchant for cars. The Female Person would leave her car door open while putting away bags of food and Marigold would jump in, any chance she got. There’s even a photograph of Marigold in the boot of a shiny, flashy red car (The Male Person was none too thrilled since it was his favourite toy). She was curious, but not truly brave. The Female Person invited her to stay for a drive one time but as soon as she turned on the noise Marigold was out of that car quick as a scalded chook.

I told Marigold that no good would come to a young hen in the back seat of a car but unusually I was wrong – nothing ever happened.

Day 19.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – caused by laziness. Feed hopper: three- quarters full. Bundles of RANDY restless roosters: four.

Did not check on Steve (but secretly wanted to). Jack told me not to be so hard on her as it was different in the days when I was raising families. He was implying that it was easier, of course, but I don’t know – stomping on her own eggs? It’s unfathomable.

Those naughty Boys were chasing Paula all afternoon; she looked ragged by the end of it. Still, their attention spans are short and she can rest assured that it will be something else that takes their fancy tomorrow.

Day 18.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – caused by anger. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Number of chick killers amongst us: one!

Did NOT check on Steve.

Day 17.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – caused by shock! Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

Checked on Steve – the Murdering Bitch! It was her this time! Not hedgehogs! Not rats! Not even her clumsiness! No! I overheard Steve telling Brian that she just couldn’t stand the thought of eight chicks and decided to follow Brian’s lead with five. So she did some “family planning” – she STOMPED on three of her eight eggs! And when I confronted her about her actions she said as calm as day, “You told me yourself that five is great number.” I am utterly defeated.

Day 16.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Bundles of ROWDY restless rooster energy: four.

Checked on Steve, but then hung around and hung around until she couldn’t hold on any longer. “Mind the nest while I go for a crap?” Says she (such language!). “Sure,” says I, and off she burst. This was my cunning plan to get an egg count, of course. And down to five she was! I’m a bit concerned as there is still a whole week of sitting to go. She came back and saw the look of disapproval of my face but I quickly reassured her that five was a great number – I said, “Look at Brian, she’s perfectly happy with five,” and then I left her to it.

The Boys were cute today, practising their crowing. It was a terrible din but a real laugh – even Jack was amused.

Day 15.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one. Feed hopper: full. Tui’s trilling in the trees: two (try saying that three times fast while filling your face with fabulous food).

Checked on Steve. She’s fine.

Phew, yesterday’s supreme embarrassment gave way to a perfect egg today. I was very glad to see I hadn’t reached henopause yet, as I like to set a good egg-laying example for Steve and Brian and for Paula in the future.

Day 14.

Mindy. Acrylic on canvas by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: half! Feed hopper: empty to start.

Oh feathers, I’m so embarrassed! I was just waking up this morning, stretched, yawned, did the usual early morning perch poo, it felt a bit different, looked behind me and there it was – a shell-less egg! I was mortified. I thought quickly and said to the flock, “I’m sure The Female Person filled the feed hopper last night,” and when everyone flapped out of the house eagerly I was able to cover the shell-less mess with some nearby straw. I didn’t mind the grumbles about the empty feed hopper – and it was filled later anyway. Anything is better than my shame being made public.

Checked on Steve. She’s all right. It’s sunny and she is warm, dry and peaceful again.

After telling Paula the story of Blacky, the Ancient One, the other day I was inspired to tell Steve about The First Family as Blacky was a part of it. I recall Blacky passing down stories of Mother Mindy who was a beautiful, rich, dark brown bantam. Mindy grew up without any other chickens around due to a tragic accident involving her brother and a Boxer dog. As a result of having no chicken companions Mindy became very fond of people. She was especially fond of The Female Person and would apparently jump up onto her shoulder and ride around like a pirate’s parrot. She was allowed inside too, for treats and cuddles and a speck of television watching (which apparently she didn’t care for). By all accounts Mother Mindy was a most extraordinary and adventurous chicken, and she became a wonderful mother to Blacky, her brother Sunset Sam and odd wee Morky – though how she did so with no rooster in evidence raises difficult questions to this day.

Day 13.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: zero. Feed hopper: empty. Worms in easy reach after the rain: many.

Checked on Steve. It rained last night and isn’t sunny today either. She looks cold, miserable and rebellious. She muttered something about not wanting to be a mother after all and something about a nice warm nest all to herself. I told her to pull her head in (although, to be honest, it was already rather tucked away) and that motherhood was by far the best thing that could happen to a hen. After my roasting (excuse my language!) she looked rather deflated, but agreed to stay sitting. Jack went and had a supportive talk to her too, which was good.

Day 12.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Weather: Raining.

Checked on Steve. Bored, wet. No feed. Did I mention it was raining?

Day 11.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Dumb jokes told: one.

Checked on Steve. She’s bored. Poor thing, I know what it’s like, sitting on eggs, but she’s only halfway through! I told her this joke to cheer her up:

Q: Why do chicks love to talk?
A: Because talk is cheep!

Steve wasn’t very impressed but I told her brooders can’t be choosers.

Day 10.

Blacky, The Ancient One. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: zip. Nest box eggs: diddly. Feed hopper: squat.

Checked on Steve. She is much more comfortable on eight eggs apparently.

I finally got to the bottom of Paula’s niceness. She wanted a story about her ‘heritage and ancestors’ (she shows great depth for one her age) so I told her about Blacky, The Ancient One.

The Female Person was ten years old when she bred Blacky. Blacky and The Female Person grew up and had a wonderful childhood together, only finally moving out of the family home when The Female Person found true love. To woo The Female Person The Male Person even built Blacky a wonderful hen house (now the broody box). “Love me, love my chicken” was The Female Person’s catch cry and thus Blacky was accommodated. It was hard at times for The Female Person to look after Blacky as her job took her away from Blacky’s home. Blacky was often lonely in these middle years but the two of them did their best.

The young people couple eventually bought this farm at Pecka Pecka where The Female Person settled down to the life of an artist (of modest talent), which meant she had much more time to spend with Blacky. The later years together were full of sunshine, good foodie treats and cuddles. Blacky never had any chicks of her own (a great sadness) but lived to the astounding age of one hundred and five chicken years (about fifteen human years). She was the founding spiritual mother of the Pecka Pecka chicken flock and is buried under the pohutukawa tree by the people house.

Paula was very impressed with the story, especially about just how truly old The Ancient One was. She was rather perplexed as to how she was related to Blacky, but just as I was about to explain she wandered off. I guess I had reached her ‘history lesson threshold’.

Day 9.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Weather: very pleasant light rain in the early afternoon.

Checked on Steve.  Asked her in a roundabout way whether she had any visitors the other night. “What do you mean?” She snapped all defensive like. But, yes, it turns out it was a hedgehog that had eaten her eggs. It came a-wuffling and a-snorting up to her nest a couple of nights ago and just kept on coming, didn’t even stop when it saw a large, scary, protective hen on the nest. Steve had to get up and leave. Hard to argue with all those prickles really. Still at least it wasn’t rats (yuck). They wouldn’t have stopped at three eggs – they would have eaten or spoiled the whole clutch.

Paula scratched me up another bug today. It’s almost too good to be true.

Day 8.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: nearly empty. Free bugs: one.

Checked on Steve as usual but snuck back when she’d got off the nest for her big daily poo (interesting factoid: hens only ‘go’ once a day when they are sitting on a clutch of eggs and when they do ‘go’ it is quite the monster dump – sometimes almost as big as an egg!). Steve had started with eleven eggs (too many for a first-time mother if you ask me) but there were already broken shells and just eight eggs left. I don’t like to ask whether it is rats (yuck) or her own clumsiness. But never mind, eight is a fine number.

Paula (my dear sweet honorary granddaughter) scratched up a bug today, then she just gave it to me; I didn’t have to peck her or anything!

Day 7.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full. Weather: cloudy with the merest feather-ruffling breeze.

Checked on Steve. She looks a bit lonely (we were most of the day grazing the house paddock rather than where she is) so I stayed and chatted for a while in the afternoon. Very pleasant.

I wonder how Steve having her first chicks will affect the pecking order. Currently as it stands it is Jack, me, Brian, Steve, The Boys and then Paula. I guess not much will change as Brian already has chicks and Steve’s chicks will definitely take up the bottom position.

Day 6.

Bush eggs: zip. Nest box eggs: one – it was a wet day, nothing better to do. Feed hopper: half full. Bundles of RIPE restless rooster energy: four.

Checked on Steve. Fine.

Those Boys aren’t such fun on a wet day. Out they went, flappity flap, and not much later they came back to the house because it was too wet to play outside. Well, they smelled of course! There’s nothing worse than the smell of a wet chicken (except perhaps a wet person). Then they proceeded to mooch around the house all day, smelling and shoving and saying they were bored. Some days I can’t wait for my grandsons to go cooping by themselves.