Day 237.

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

Well, nothing much has changed since yesterday except today it’s sunny, I’m warm, the Boys are busy hassling something or someone else and I feel a bit better. Still VERY hungry though.

Day 236.

Ruby moulting. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: zilch. Happy thoughts: none.

Crikey Cracked Feathers! I look bad with this moult and I’m all skin and bone for no pellets. I haven’t heard any more about the portrait and frankly I’m in no fit state to pose. The Boys are making my life a misery by chasing me around and pulling out my last remaining feathers. Grey Gun has been Sent Away because of The Fall – that was TOTALLY The Female Person’s fault (she was doing her best Pocahontas impersonation, galloping around the hills with no saddle thingy on, when she slipped off going up a steep hill. That’s the story I got from the ducks anyway). It’s so unjust to blame Grey Gun.

Life’s not too happy-happy-joy-joy right now.

Day 235.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: zip diddily.

There was a young pukeko that got stuck in the bottom corner of our run today. The gate was open but it couldn’t figure its way out, just kept on trying to escape at that corner. It was up here looking for FOOD! The Female Person snuck up on it, caught it and threw it over the fence (which was pretty impressive considering she has only one usable arm at the moment). Anyway the stupid thing didn’t even flap its wings to break the fall, just landed like a rock, then rolled down the bank to the pond, picked itself up fine at the bottom (which is good) and ran off. I noticed that the pukeko, young cute and fuzzy though it was, gave The Female Person a nasty peck on the hand when she caught it – serves her right for starving us all.

Day 234.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: nothing.

Oh, Okay. The ducky friends are part of the problem apparently.

There has been rather an alarming increase of wild ducks on the pond lately and I overheard The Female Person discussing with The Old Ones how she “doesn’t mind feeding the chickens and the tame ducks but resents buying food for an extra fifty wild ducks!” It’s understandable and I can see why she would let the ducks’ feed hopper run empty but ours should really be filled up. Mind you, now with no pond fence the ducks (tame, wild, stupid) all wander up here without a thought for OUR needs and raid OUR supplies. The cheek!

Day 233.

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

Some FEED in the HOPPER, SOON, would be GOOD!

I don’t understand. Usually The Old Ones are so attentive to our needs. They have been spending rather more time than necessary with The Female Person and her bulky arm thing. I mean, come on, at least she still HAS an arm.

The tame ducks and all their (wild) ducky friends are really starting to crave the pellets too.

Day 232.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty. Chickens with rumbly, empty crops: everyone.

Good-o, The Old Ones are staying, so we should get some pellets in the feed hopper soon.

Day 231.

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

Oh dear. It seems that The Female Person did quite a lot of damage to herself when she fell off Grey Gun. I can’t understand why as he is hardly the biggest horse I’ve seen (I’ve seen three!) She has some kind of a hard, white, shell thing from her shoulder to her wrist and another kind of sling thing from her wrist to her neck. It looks like it’ll be awfully hard to lift sacks of Peck‘n’Lay wearing all that.

Day 230.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: half – bugger! Feed hopper: empty. My crop: empty.

I laid another shell-less egg today. This one wasn’t my fault, and CERTAINLY has nothing to do with me getting older. I blame it on the lack of pellets. The Female Person was going to go and get some after she’d ridden Grey Gun (who looked stunning as usual – we see him occasionally walking by) but she fell off and was Sent Away in a big white van that made a noise like a wounded donkey, so who knows when we’ll get fed.

Day 229.

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

I overheard The Female Person talking about “advertising the Boys on Trade Me.” I’m not sure what that is but it apparently has something to do with the camera so I feel a bit better. I’m sure it’s not a painting, otherwise she would have said. It sounds more like a diet to me – the Boys are getting VERY big, but then I sort of thought that was the point with roosters.

Day 228.

Ruby. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: two pellets! Feathers under the perch: TOO MANY.

No, No, No! NOT NOW! My moult has started and I’m going to be photographed for my painting any day now! What will I do? What will I DO? I look fowl (hang on, that doesn’t sound right). I look bad and I’ll only get worse. Perhaps I can fudge it. The feathers are mainly falling out of my gizzard side, so maybe I could give her my crop side – it’s not my best profile as I explained but it could do.

And Steve had the wattles to suggest I’m vain. It’s not vanity; it’s wanting to present one’s best attributes to the world at large.

Day 227.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: mostly bottom now.

I saw The Female Person chasing the Boys around with the camera today! I thought I was the one being painted! I had preened up all lovely too when I saw the camera and posed beautifully but off she wandered to where the Boys were. Well, what a hash of it they made. They blinked, they turned at the wrong moment, they stuck their BOTTOMS towards the camera and The Female Person was lapping it up! Honestly. Maybe she is practising on the Boys so she gets it right tomorrow when it’s my turn. The Boys are lovely and will make a splendid quartette for a painting one day, but they’re a bit young and not in their mature feathers yet.

Day 226.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: yes, I can clearly see the bottom.

I have been practicing the full-body, three-quarter head turn for the portrait. I have a bit of a stiff neck today, which makes it harder. Jack asked what I was doing so I told him and he explained that the stiff neck is FROM doing the “silly and unnatural” pose. But I’m sure it’s from a draught I was sitting in. Jack’s secretly jealous – he’s very handsome and he should have his portrait painted as well. It’s not MY fault The Female Person always chooses me. I didn’t ask for this job!

Day 225.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: a very thin patchy layer left.

I wonder how I will be posed in the painting. I hope I can do something other than a full profile body shot like my last one – a full body but three-quarter head turn could be quite fetching. I wonder what will be in the portrait with me; maybe I could pose with some of my beautiful eggs. I wonder what the background will be like, I thought the warm and inviting glow of the straw in the last one was excellent; it really set off my dark tail feathers and rich red comb. “Ruby: The One True Hen”. Very nice.

Day 224.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: a wafer-thin layer of pellets left.

Good News! I’ve learned there is to be a second portrait painted of myself! Well, of course I’m flattered. Apparently it is going to be called “The One True Hen” which is just wonderful (and justified). It’s being painted in Wellytown, which I hear is quite a long car drive away. I’m a bit worried as I don’t travel well and would hate not to look my best for the sittings.

Day 223.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – it was vibrated out. Feed hopper: a very thin layer. Spooked chickens: all of us.

All hell broke loose early this morning when we were woken by a loud rumbling. Then there was an almighty bang. After that everything went sideways and then juddered to and fro a bit. Brian fell off the perch. She wasn’t hurt, just shaken. No damage to the house, thank feathers!

I hate earthshakes. Why does such a benign entity (i.e. the earth) have to have a good shake like a wet dog every so often? Is it just to keep us slightly paranoid? It certainly has that effect on me.

Day 222.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: thin layer left.

Those Boys are STILL sleeping in the nest. They have a terrible squeeze and shove last thing at night to get themselves (four large, gangly roosters) into the three small nest boxes. They have never had a set routine – it’s more sort of a mad scrabble to see who can get a nest box first, and then the last one has to test each of the three occupiers to see who will share. This is usually ascertained by force (unless it’s a very cold night – then you get a modicum of co-operation). It’s terribly undignified and always leads to feathers flying. I wish Brian would say something about their unsettling, not to mention filthy, habits.

Day 221.

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

The Female Person has a new car. This in itself is all fine and good, but whereas the last one was an almighty beast of a thing with big wheels, this one is kind of normal-sized. So what’s the problem? We could stand under the other one on a rainy day and keep nice and dry, or take refuge under it in a Big Scary Wind like we did recently. This one? Not a chance. You could possibly SIT under it if you felt inclined, but to get far enough under it to sit would call for some undignified shuffling. Count me out!

Day 220.

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

Unnamed now has a name! Unnamed is now... Camilla! I like it. Steve loves it and Camilla herself is rather chuffed.

Apparently a while back in the people world an important Charles person has married an important Camilla person, and Unnamed, with her lovely topknot and sultry good looks, reminded The Female Person of this Camilla in her wedding finery. It's a good, solid, dependable name, much like the hen she is.

Day 219.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Grumpy dreams about the Boys last night: two.

An extremely short poem by Ruby
Rainy and cold
I feel old.


Yes, that about sums up the day, my mood, and also my poetic talent at the moment.

Day 218.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – an unconscious impulse. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Disgusting young roosters: four.

I had an urgent need to lay an egg after breakfast this morning. It came on with a horrible rush and I only just made it to the nest on time. Disgustingly I had to lay it on layers and layers of mess (the Boys’ fault). And now my beautiful (and rare) egg is covered in CRAP. It really makes me mad. Nests are for LAYING in not for SLEEPING in and definitely not for CRAPPING in!

Day 217.

Big Bertha and Billy Bob. Acrylic on canvas by F L Campbell

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

All this talk of roosters; I was telling Unnamed about Billy Bob today. I had her in stitches impersonating the pompous strutting and fluffing he used to do. He looked like a feathery teapot. He thought he was the epitome in sexy roosterness, but I was TWICE as big as him and he had a lot of trouble even getting on my back, let alone actually doing the deed. He sort of went off me after trying a few times. Didn’t worry me much. Bertha quite liked him though and would make subtle advances towards him (involving a lot of Big Bertha chasing Billy Bob around the chicken run if my memory serves me right). But if you think I was too big for Billy Bob, Bertha was twice MY size. Billy Bob was terrified and used to hide in the corner of the chicken run and try to dig his way out under the fence. Unfortunately not only did he and Bertha never get it together but he also died a slow and sad death at a young age. I never liked him but I pitied him for that. He couldn’t eat and wasted away over a couple of weeks – tumours, very sad (over-bred Purebred).

I’ve just come up with a catchy little poem about Billy Bob:

A poem about Billy Bob by Ruby
Billy Bob, puffed up teapot
Could he mate me?
He could not.
Was he worth much?
Not a jot.
Do I miss him?
Not a lot.


Not sure he would like it. Actually, pretty sure he wouldn’t, but he’s dead.

Day 216.

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

Forty-two. That’s the answer Steve finally came up with. Unfortunately Brian and I had forgotten the question so it rather lost its impact when an over-excited Steve put the answer to us.

Brian and I think Jack could handle (and satisfy) about seven or eight hens of calm temperament.

Day 215.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Mathematically inclined chickens: none of us, that’s for sure.

Steve, Brian and I were discussing how many hens one rooster can comfortably handle. Steve made a salient observation and remarked that it very much depended on the PERSONALITY of the rooster, the TEMPERAMENT of the hens and the QUALITY of the environment. Sort of like this, she said:

P (where P = Personality) + T (where T = Temperament) ÷ Q (where Q = Quality)

She spent half the morning trying to get the figures to work but Brian (who was still fuming at her two week old eggs being stolen) and I lost interest and walked off after a while.

Day 214.

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

Jack wasn’t speaking to the Boys (understandable), but he also implicated us in their game so wouldn’t speak to us either. Consequently there are bad vibes a-plenty and a VERY quiet night.

That’s the trouble when you have fast-maturing roosters in your family. I mean, what is the point of more than one full-grown rooster? One rooster in a flock is completely sufficient for all rooster duties like waking us up, waking the people up, watching for predators, and fathering chicks. Any more than one rooster is TROUBLE.

Day 213.

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

Those naughty Boys were really taunting their father today – they ran him ragged before he realised their game and wisely decided to ignore them. What they did was to spread out so there was some distance between each of them but so they were still within sight of Jack. Then one by one they would do something irritating and deserving of a good beating (like crowing, strutting or eyeing up us girls). Jack would then be running from one to the next to the next, trying to sort them out. It’s a bit sad that us hens knew what was going on quite a while before Jack clucked.

Day 212. Easter Sunday.

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

Egg Sunday and not only did the people find my shell-less egg (oh, the shame) but they found Brian on her nest and stole the eggs that she’s been sitting on for almost two weeks now! She was nearly on the home straight with them!! Once again she is unlucky in lay. Consequently she doesn’t think much of the Egg Festival. Jack’s secretly pleased that Brian’s family plans have been upset and the Boys are all fawning over her because they’re so happy to have their doting mother back.

While The Female Person was in a busy Egg Festival mood and disturbing nests etc. she topped up the pellets – at least she was making herself useful I guess.

Day 211.

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

Look, I tried really hard to lay the people an egg in the nest for the Egg Festival, and all that happened is a shell-less mess. And there isn’t enough hay to cover it, and since rats don’t come in to the chicken house they won’t be able to dispose of it for me. So it’s sitting there for the entire world to see. This is just too embarrassing.

Day 210. Easter Friday.

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

Today is Good Egg Friday – the start of a three-day festival that the people invented to celebrate eggs (and egg-laying and chickens). They paint eggs, roll eggs, find hidden eggs and then EAT them! They also almost make themselves sick by eating chocolate eggs (don’t they know that chocolate is poisonous? It says so clear as day in the Handy Hints for Hens book that every household should have.) Apart from the eating eggs bit, it’s a lovely festival.

The hens and I tried to push out a few of our own eggs for them to find but we are all kind of egged out at the moment – even Steve, who can usually be counted on.

Day 209.

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

Autumn now, days are getting shorter, nights longer (very snuggly) and the bugs slower. There’s no challenge to catching them at the moment.

The Little People were outside today making the most odd but magical things. They would dip a loopy wire contraption in some liquid, then pull it out and blow through the loop. Out would come these amazing floaty round things that would waft in the air. Mostly they would pop as soon as they touched something but Matthew got one stuck to his comb for a bit – very funny, though he didn’t think so.

They are growing up so fast, The Little People. It’s lovely to watch them gaining courage and becoming independent.

Day 208. Mid Autumn. April Fowls' Day.

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

We were all in a complete flap this morning. Before we had even got up for breakfast Matthew said, “Right, I’m off,” and he left. Just like that. Not another word said! Well, we had all been hinting that the Boys should go and find a place of their own (all except Brian, of course) but we thought they would all go together and give some warning so we could have a bit of a send-off for them. Not like this with Matthew just leaving. It made us feel terrible and really unsettled. Then at lunchtime he reappeared, called out, “April Fowl’s Day, I got you!” It was a joke, an April Fowl’s joke! The Boys have no intention of leaving. Ever.