Day 148.

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

We now have complete and free access to the pond area (and the stupid ducks). This means that we should never be short of water again, which happens occasionally and is always a cause for great alarm (even more than an empty feed hopper). I had always liked the look of the pond area, lush and green but it is now a wasteland of sand and pine cones. VERY UGLY. The ducks are a bit traumatised and a fetching shade of ‘muddy pond water’ rather than their usual blinding white due to the orange monster stirring up the pond water with its diggings. The Boys have been daring each other to go across the bridge to the island in the middle of the pond.

Day 147.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Best word to describe the new landscaping: devastation.

Oh, blessed freedom. Oh, wondrous great outdoors. The female person opened the gate this morning!

I now have an inkling as to why we were locked up. The orange monster has wreaked HAVOC upon the landscape: the driveway is in a COMPLETELY different place, twelve trees have been RIPPED out by their roots and the pond area has been transformed BEYOND recognition. The carnage is UNIMAGINABLE. The only positive factor is that the scratchings are VERY good.

Day 146.

Bush eggs: none! Nest box eggs: three – we were doomed! None of us could hold on! Feed hopper: full. Number of times Jack checked the gate to see if it had been mysteriously unlatched: about thirteen.

This is it! This is the end of life as we know it! No more wandering at will, no more strolling at large, no more FREEDOM. Why have we been punished so? I don’t understand the female person any more. I thought she liked watching us wander past her windows and stroll down the drive. I thought she loved us. Why has she locked us AWAY?!

The orange monster was doing something by the pond today but left late this afternoon. I’m glad it’s gone; it was definitely kind of creepy.

Day 145.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: two – we were trapped! These are Steve and Brian’s eggs, not mine. Feed hopper: full. Number of fruitless tours around the run to see if we can break out: five.

Umm. Hello! We’re still locked in! I can’t believe it – the gates are still shut. We had a nice time of it yesterday but this is beyond a joke. Everyone’s getting a bit tetchy with each other, and Steve and Brian couldn’t hold off laying any more hence the nest box egg.

The orange monster was doing something with the pine trees today.

Day 144.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – we were locked in. Feed hopper: full.

Hello! Help! We have been locked in the run by mistake and the fence is much too high to fly over (Luke has given it a good go, though). I don’t mind staying in the run for a bit, it’s quite nice here. There are some stunted fruit trees to lie under if the sun gets too hot (I think the plan was to have lovely large fruit trees that would give us shelter, shade and fruit but I could have told the female person that fruit trees wouldn’t grow well in Pecka Pecka and I’m no gardener!) There is also a lovely dust bath. We can’t all fit in it at the same time but it is worth the wait for a turn as the soil is particularly fine in that spot. Also in the chicken run we have water and of course our beloved feed hopper, which is full at the moment. And it’s not far for me to go lay an egg, which is a good thing.

The orange monster was doing something on the drive all morning and is now asleep outside the chicken house again.

Day 143.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Brave roosters: Luke.

The most bizarre creature arrived late this afternoon. A huge orange thing with no feet (or is it lots of feet?), a funny square body, and one great arm that hangs out the front and ends with a great scoopy claw-like thing. Gave us all a hell of a fright when it chugga-chug-chugged up the drive, but it immediately went to sleep outside the chicken house and hasn’t moved since. We plucked(!) up the courage to have a closer look on our way home and Luke even pecked it! But it hasn’t moved so we aren’t too worried.

Day 142.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – caused by contentment. Feed hopper: full.

Nothing makes a flock of fine fowls friskier than free feed.

Yes, the feed hopper is once again full and now everyone is happy. Steve and Brian have realised that they were being immature and had a lovely joint dust bathing session in the early morning sun. The Boys are in fine-feathered fettle. Paula and Unnamed are being both classic AND stylish and lovely with it. Jack looked and sounded magnificent crowing proudly in the dawn light. Life is good!

Day 141.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Happy, happy thoughts: none.

I have an itchy egg hole because of lice and the feed hopper is still empty because of the pukekos. It is too hot and everyone is grumpy.

Day 140.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Hens on non-speaking terms: two.

Steve and Brian are still not talking. Jack told them both to get over it but they really have their feathers in a fizz. Trouble is they are both right. Paula IS very classic looking and Unnamed IS very stylish. It’s such a foolish thing to have an argument about. Some hens can be so vapid sometimes; it gives us all a bad name.

Day 139.

Camilla & Paula: "Top knot or not top knot?" That is the question! Acrylic on canvas by F L Campbell

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

Steve and Brian had the almightiest ding-dong fight today. Apparently it was about whether Brian’s chick Paula looks better than Steve’s chick as yet ‘unnamed’. The only difference is that Unnamed now has the beginnings of a little topknot of feathers on its head. Brian apparently remarked when both chicks wandered past that Paula was a “classic” looking hen and added something about “no need for extra fussy bits to look fantastic.” Steve apparently replied that Unnamed was “classic” looking but had that “extra bit of style that really sets it apart”. With that she gave Brian a swift peck and then it was ALL ON. It was most unseemly for a couple of grown hens. I was deeply embarrassed for the chicks’ sakes.

Day 138.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full/empty. Perplexing matters: one.

Oh, this is just great – as if the ducks aren’t trouble enough! No sooner had the female person filled up our feed hopper (and the ducks’ one) than seven, SEVEN, scheming pukekos came and cleaned us out! At least the ducks are kind of amiable in their stupidity. Those pukekos are devious and hateful – they’re like angels of gloom. I’ve heard that pukekos play a game called Chicken that involves standing in the middle of the death strip and getting squashed by cars. Why would the game be called Chicken? Are you the winner or the loser of the game when a car squashes you? What’s the point?

Day 137.

The pond. Photography by F L Campbell

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

Oh, those stupid, stupid ducks. They had enjoyed their Peck‘n’Lay too (although for them it’s more like Dabble‘n’Squirt) and they had finished theirs so decided to help themselves to ours. Now how come those stupid ducks (that cannot fly due to comedy wings) can break out of the fence around the pond but we can’t break in? It simply makes no sense. Anyway, up they marched doing that foolish waddle they do (why can’t they walk like normal birds? Why?) and they cleaned us out. No “Please”, no “Thank you”, not even a “My, Ruby, you are looking splendid today,” just “quack, quack, gobble, quack.”

Day 136.

Major as an Italian icon. Acrylic on canvas by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Fearful thoughts of mortality, mine and others: many.

Gosh, what if Jack WAS to die in the prime of his life? His father did, after all. There he was, Major, the biggest, kindest, most beautiful rooster a hen could ask for. He was a rich dark brown with a magnificent black tail shot with green. He had two long white tail feathers that used to flap in the breeze like they were trying hard to signal alien spacecraft. He had the most wonderful erect comb and sexy wattles and a gloss to him that could make a grown hen weep with desire (I did when I first met him!) He was the PICTURE of health and vitality the day we had had our first clutch of four chicks. But when he poked his head in for a look he DIED.

What an unexpected shock it was! He just up and carked it on the doorstep of the nest. It was horrible. I was trapped in there for half a day making up worse and worse excuses for why daddy was “sleeping in the doorway.” The female person eventually came and removed him and that was the last I ever saw of him. And me, left with four young and hungry mouths to feed! I was so ANGRY at Major for leaving us but also so devastated that he wouldn’t be part of the family. They were very sad and trying times.

Jack can’t die – we need him too much.

Day 135.

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

Cheeky, that’s all I can say. The bald-faced cheek of it. I talked to Brian about the Boys and how she shouldn’t spoil them and she in turn alluded to the fact that Jack wasn’t getting any younger and he would need REPLACING at some stage. She went on to say that the Boys had to know that they were SPECIAL and fit for the job! I’m astounded! Jack’s in the prime of his life! He has YEARS! Surely?

Day 134.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. New words that rhyme with silver, orange or purple: none! This is WAY harder than I anticipated.

Despite being big, strong and well capable of the task, Brian’s Boys refuse to open the feed hopper themselves. Instead they wait for Brian to stand on the middle of the pedal and then they all reach over or around her and have a good guzzle of pellets. She mothers the Boys too much. She makes Paula feed herself, but runs after those Boys like the sun shines out of their cloacae. I know she’s a first-time mother and she’s just feeling things out but I really must have a talk to her. Raising roosters after they reach a certain age is a father’s job and a mother can only hinder the process of growing gorgeous boys into good roosters if she doesn’t let go. I found it very hard with Jack as I was a single parent and there were absolutely no male mentors available for him, good or bad. He grew up amazing almost despite his circumstances. He’s a good boy to his mum too.

Day 133.

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

We want more Peck‘n’Lay! It really was delicious. We want more Peck‘n’Lay. I hear it is nutritious. Did you know that nothing rhymes with silver, orange or purple? I could almost make it my life’s work to come up with new words and definitions to rhyme with these important colours.

Anyway, thinking about bantams and size differences yesterday got me to thinking about the female person and her mate. There’s quite a size difference there and it must really strain her when the male person leaps upon her back of a morning and ‘ticks her off his list’. People sex… shudder. Doesn’t bear thinking about really... mmm... nice day today, middle of summer, getting wonderfully warm again. Wurple? Turple? Murple?

Day 132.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – it was raining. Feed hopper: quarter full. Brain: woolly from too much rain.

It was raining again so we were inside quite a bit of the day. Steve, Brian and I got to discussing bantams. They have only seen one (when they were younger and went to the big room full of chickens and staring people and the female person rescued them and took them home), but he sounds like the smallest rooster I have every heard of, even smaller than Billy Bob (and Dog knows he was small).

Billy Bob was a Buff Peking bantam rooster and a sound lesson in what overbreeding can lead to. He came to Pecka Pecka in the company of three Buff Peking bantam hens. I can’t remember their names, but they laid small eggs, had small brains and couldn’t successfully raise one little chick between the three of them. What is the point of a small chicken? And the roosters are real mean, Jack says. It’s ‘small rooster syndrome’ where they have to act tough to feel like they can rub wings with the big guys. They crow pathetically too, all high and squeaky – sort of like they have cold boy bits.

Steve, Brian and I all agreed that Jack is just the perfect size for us and that size does matter.

Day 131.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – caused by boredom, not Peck‘n’Lay. Feed hopper: half full.

Rainy day today. Not torrential and not even cold, just... rainy. I wonder how Grey Gun is?

Day 130.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Nightmares involving horrible deaths to chicks: four.

I didn’t sleep terribly well last night after the hawk incident. I kept on thinking about my precious chicks being stolen like that. Fortunately, it was a lovely day and we all had a long relaxing dust bath. I feel much better.

I must say too that the new pellets are going down a treat; a complex first flavour with a satisfying after note and an intriguing, cheeky texture. Definitely a good 'peck'. We shall see about the 'lay' business later...

Day 129.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – caused by abject terror. Feed hopper: full.

I was minding my own business (something I do rather well, I feel) when a black shape swooped down from the skies. I thought it was Luke again so I was totally unprepared to look up in to the cool gaze of the biggest hawk I’ve ever seen! I don’t think it was after me – it can’t possibly have been, I’m a full-grown hen – but to see it that close, to really look into the eyes of someone who would snatch a chick away from its mother without a thought... In fright I ran for the nest box and laid an accidental egg.

Day 128.

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

How about this next installment in my anti-Slater campaign:

Slater Haiku by Ruby
Slater, I hate you
You mean less than zip to me
And you taste horrid.

Ha! Amazing Zen-like poetry talent.

Okay – enough about slaters. They and I will just have to get along. As they say in the Handy Hints For Hens Handbook everything great (me) and small (slaters) has an important role, even though it may not be obvious.

Big news today is the change of pellet brand. We have gone from Hi-Lay to Peck‘n’Lay. I heard the female person grumbling about “Why Lay?” and “Peck’n’Poop”. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, and besides, what does she think we are - egg-laying machines?

Day 127.

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

The people brought us treats from their time abroad. Weird combination though: chippies, toasted sandwich (soggy), smoked salmon, gourmet cheeses (over-ripe), half a bruised apple and some porridge (porridge: just an excuse for cream and brown sugar – yum). There was heaps to choose from so there weren’t too many fights at the treat bowl.

Day 126.

John. Photography by F L Campbell

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

Like I said Brian’s son, John, is one chilled-out chicken (in stark contrast to his brother Luke). We were all having a lovely dust bath up by the garage when the people came back and used the full width of the turning circle in front of the garage to manoeuvre their car. Well, we all scattered in terror – all except John, that is, who stayed in the dust bath with the car wheel only feather-lengths away from his beak. Didn’t blink any one of his eyelids! He laughed and called us “fraidy feathers” when we came back to the dust bath. Unflappable!

Day 125.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – it was a bit chilly out. Feed hopper: full.

Bitterly cold today. Just when you really relax into the warmth of summer an icy blast blows right up your egg hole. Still, these sand dunes where we live are great for finding a sheltered, sunny spot no matter what the wind. And the long grass is fun for the chicks to play chase in. Not that we have any chicks at the moment. Steve’s chick is well on the way to maturity: good feathering coming through, body filling out nicely. We still don’t know if it’s a layer or a crower though.

It looks like the chick will have its mother’s patterning: black on neck feathers, tips of wings and tail – but will have its father’s colouring: a rich brown instead of white like Steve. I love seeing the feathers take on the adult colours and patterns. Very exciting.

Day 124.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Weather: a sun shower at midday with a bonus rainbow.

Steve went to lay an egg in the nest under the big boxthorn bush today – she already had five there – but she came back to say that they’d all been broken and eaten by rats. Now she’s pacing around in a panic trying to decide where to safely lay the next lot. I suggested the nest box – you know, just for a lark – and she looked at me like I was loopy.

I had another surge of anti slater inspiration last night, how about this:

Slater limerick by Ruby
There was an old slater from here
Who wanted to live over there.
So with a whistle and a song
He bumbled along,
Till I squished him and made him disappear.

Day 123.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. People around: zero.

Stepped in a nest of slaters today – disgusting. There’s just something about slaters that really makes my feathers curl. I ate a slater by mistake once and nearly died trying to hoik it up again. Tasted like turds.

A Poem for a Slater by Ruby
Slater, you’re disgusting
You give me the creeps
I hope I do the same for you
When you are asleep.

Oh, I’m brilliant!

The people are away again. I must say they do gad around a fair bit. Where do they go? What do they do? Why would they want to leave Pecka Pecka? Pecka Pecka has everything one could need: green grass, sweet sunshine, a variety of bugs: some good, some slaters – what more could a person want? It’s no concern of mine really, so long as the feed hopper is full, which it is.

I do miss them though.

Day 122.

Get your chickens in a row. Photography by F L Campbell

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

Very grudging apology from Luke in the late afternoon. I think Brian must have had a word to him.

It never ceases to amaze me how four brothers could look SO alike and act SO differently. Luke is a troublemaker and feather-brain but funny at times and very brave. Mark is sensible and considerate – with maybe a whiff of boring about him. Matthew is so quiet and nice that he hardly gets a look in. And John is pretty chilled out, if not too relaxed, I worry that his attitude won’t get him ahead in life, the only thing that makes him alert is food.

Day 121.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Who’s in trouble: Luke.

Very sore after yesterday’s tumble. Am having an easy day. No apology from Luke yet.

Day 120.

Luke. Photography by F L Campbell

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

Yes, my performance outside the people house yesterday worked – we were all ‘gooed’ last night. Good-bye scaly mites, hello healthy, smooth legs.

That Luke’s a troublemaker. Minding my own business I was, up to my neck in a lovely dust bath, when this great, flapping, screaming thing flies past my head. Well, I got such a fright that I did a somersault out of the dust bath and down the bank, spraying dust out of me like a horizontal tornado. It was only when I came to a stop at the bottom of the bank that I heard the laughter and looked back up the bank to see Luke exploding with mirth. It’s not the first time he’s given me a terrible fright and thought it was hilarious either. I was glad to see Jack give him a really vicious tweak on his comb for his troubles.

Day 119.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Sore legs: two per chicken.

Yucky, yucky, yucky. Scaly mites! Last week it was lice, this week scaly mites – what next!? If I stand outside the people house on one foot and then limp and stumble around a bit the female person should get the message to attend to our legs. None of us like the cure, but most of us are suffering from the mites so we will put up with the person-handling and the degradation of being upended and pinned under a warm armpit while our legs are coated with goo.

Steve and Brian seem to be doing well with their New Year’s ‘More Eggs’ resolution, I see. I’m still gathering steam on that one.

Oh and on an interesting note I said, “most of us were suffering from scaly mites”. Steve and Brain, with their oddly pink coloured legs ever don’t ever seem to be affected. Now obviously, the dark legs that I and the rest of the flock have are way more attractive than pale pink ones but having occasional scaly mite infestations is a high price to pay for sexy legs.

Day 118. Mid Summer. New Year's Eve

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Yes!

Cracked eggs! It was New Year’s Eve last night and no one told me! But now’s the time to start afresh; no more Grey Gun, no more sulking, and no more Mrs. Nice Chicken!

My New Year’s resolutions are:
Have more fun
Eat more pellets
Lay more eggs

I’ve done well with the first two, not so good on the last one. Plenty of time though.

The people were singing the strangest and loudest song last night. I’ve been trying to work out what it’s about. It goes: “Should all accountants be forgot...? And Never Brought to mind.” Very odd, especially as they don’t really know any accountants. Thank feathers New Year’s Eve is only once a year!