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.

Day 5.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Bundles of young restless rooster energy: four.

Checked on Steve. She seems to have worked through her pain as she is once again sitting pretty.

Gosh, Brian’s Boys are funny. Instead of just walking out of the house they kind of flap and skitter and push and shove as if they have some sort of itching disease. But no, they are just teenagers with too much zing. Lovely though. Brian is very proud.

Day 4.

Big beautiful Bertha. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Excellent poems written: one.

Checked on Steve. She says she has a pain in her knees from sitting too long. Ha! Day four of 21! She ain’t seen nothing yet!

I was thinking a lot about Bertha last night after my fun time with Brian. Bertha was such a trick, always up to something with that gleam in her eye. She was a BIG girl, that Bertha, about four times my size and I’m not tiny. Loved her food, oh yes. Would gallop up to the treat bowl when called by the people, fat, feathery thighs flying. That’s what killed her in the end – not the thighs, of course, but the running for food. Did her heart in and all for a little scrap of jelly. Still, at least she died with her eye firmly on the prize.

I wrote a poem in honour of her; I’m sure she would have liked it. I do miss her so.

A Poem about Bertha by Ruby
Bertha was a big girl
There’s no mistaking that.
Some would even go so far
As to call her fat.
But I myself prefer to think
She was just a bottomless vat.

Treats would go in one end
Eggs come out the other.
Given half a chance, I think
She would have been a great mother.

Yes, she was a big hen
But only some of that was tummy.
It was her heart that made her very large
And also extremely chummy.


I love poetry. It was my favourite subject at Unipeck. And I think, without sounding too immodest, that I’m really rather good at it.

Day 3.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Colour of the sky: bright, clear blue. Cold but beautiful.

Checked on Steve.  She’s fine.

Had a lovely dust bath today – there’s just nothing like it for removing recalcitrant mites. It was the first really good dust bath of spring, with dappled light and warm sand – lovely. Brian came to join me at one stage. It was a bit of a squeeze as I had dug quite a deep hole in the sand but we had such fun. Giggled like teenagers, we did. I had thought Brian was a bit vapid, but motherhood seems to have changed her, deepened her. I think I might have finally found a new friend. Not that anyone could replace Bertha.

Day 2.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: a little bit less than a quarter full. Grass growth: spring grass just showing through.

Checked on Steve. She’s sitting tight and looking pretty. Jack finally asked after her whereabouts. When I filled him in he said he was pleased she has got herself a good nest site but he’s a bit worried about starting another family so close to Brian’s own brood of five (Paula and the four Boys, born five months ago). He says he’s worried if there will be enough grazing and also the reliability of the feed hopper. I admit that the feed hopper has been low lately but I told him not to worry, these things work themselves out. He seemed a bit reassured but I did hear him muttering something like, “Eleven! What was she thinking?!”

Day 1. Early Spring

Steve and Brian – or was it Brian and Steve? Acrylic on canvas by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: quarter full. Weather: A slight breeze from the sea.

Hallelujah, Steve is finally with child – well, actually eleven of them to be precise. She has been trying hard enough; this is the fifth nest she has started. Oh, but this one is lovely, all tucked away in the weeds with a view of the pond and the ducks to keep her amused for the next twenty-one days. Hopefully the people won’t find it there. And my, does she look smug, like she’s the first hen to come up with the idea of hatching a brood of chicks. Ha! Youth! She really should have come to me for advice on motherhood, but no, these modern girls have to do it for themselves. Reinventing the nest, I call it.

His Royal Roosterness, Jack, hasn’t noticed her absence yet.

It’s kind of weird that Steve and her friend Brian are called Steve and Brian. Apparently The Female Person thought she’d been sold a couple of young roosters on the sly so she gave them crowing names. But they were just slow developers with particularly pronounced combs and masculine ways. I tell you, there was great rejoicing in the people house when one of them laid an egg. The Female Person did then change their names to Marge‘n’Tina (she sang this odd little song, “Don’t cry for me, Marge‘n’Tina”) but it was too late, the names Steve and Brian had stuck.