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.