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!