Day 268.

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

I was talking to Brian today and she said she had reconciled herself to the loss of her Boys and was getting over the pain and enjoying the company of the replacement hens. She has a lovely positive outlook on life again which is great to see, and is even looking forward to having a new family in spring. She can see the point of it all once more.

Day 267.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Warm thoughts towards the new hens: some.

We all had a great game of ‘Treat Tag’ this afternoon. The Female Person threw us a knob of extremely tasty meat, which Steve caught. Well, off she ran, but as soon as she put it down to start eating it Brian came and stole it, leaving Steve with just a beak full. So Brian takes off and leads us a merry dance, but we are all waiting for her to put the chunk down to take a bite too. So Ella steals it next and the race is on again. It was a great game; I got three bites of the treat. We were all really puffed afterwards but way more chummy as a group. It felt surprisingly good and there was much laughter all round from us and from the people.

Day 266.

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

The new girls seem to be getting the hang of things. I noticed Sylvie having a lovely dust bath at the top of the bank; she was so vigorous that by the time she’d finished she had carved a channel to the bottom of the bank – impressive.

Less impressive was Ella’s trip to the pond for a drink – where she fell in! That takes a certain skill, I must admit.

Day 265.

Party time! Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Wobbly tummies: everyone’s.

No time to quietly lay eggs today. By the time we got the urge the people had arrived back, and a huge bunch of Little People also arrived and proceeded to chase us around unmercifully. What’s with this chasing? They never catch us; they don’t eat us, why bother? It is exhausting and unsettling.

Then they all repaired to the house for various tasty but unhealthy foods, many of which ended up in the treat bowl afterwards and were gutsed by us chickens!

Day 264.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: two – habit obviously. Feed hopper: full.

Yeah! Freedom at last! I know that the three days locked in the coop is supposed to allow us time to ‘bond’ with the new hens but blow that, as soon as the coop gate was opened this morning we were off – the new girls can figure it out for themselves.

Interestingly, after the first burst of rooster keenness Jack seems to have gone off the new girls. He’s so loyal, such a good boy.

Day 263.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – a slow day for the girls. Feed hopper: full.

Still locked in.

The people are away again and have left The Little People and us in the capable hands of The Old Ones, so probably no feed issues for a while.

That flighty Buttercup flew out of the coop last night and slept wattles knows where. I told you she was trouble (well, in a fit of prescience I actually said flighty but it amounts to the same thing.)

I wrote a poem about the new girls…

A poem about new hens by Ruby
Three new girls arrived the other day
Sylvie, Ella and Buttercup they say
They’re here to live
Eggs they will give
And about it Jack seems AOK!

The rest of us are not so keen
Brian and Steve are especially mean
They shove and peck
Pull feathers from necks
But Jack still seems to like their sheen

Jack takes great pains to make
His needs the complete opposite of opaque
He struts and preens
It’s really obscene
But at least you can’t accuse him of being a fake.


A dazzling display of rhyme and time – sublime!

Day 262.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: two – Steve and Brian are kind of getting used to it now. Feed hopper: full.

Okay, we are still locked in so I’ve had some time to think:
This is the noise chickens make when they have just laid an egg: “Bergurk! Book! Book! Book! Book!” And this is the noise chickens make when a cat is stalking them: “Bergurk! Book! Book! Book! Book!”

So here are my questions:
Why the feathers are they the same?
Why would we alert the world that we have just laid a vulnerable egg anyway?

I have tried walking away quietly after laying an egg but I can’t help myself. I feel it building up inside me until out it pops: “Bergurk! Book! Book! Book! Book!” “My! My! I’m being stalked by an egg!”

At least it’s better than the ducks though. I have counted fifty-six different sounds a chicken makes but how many sounds do ducks make? ONE: Quack.

Day 261.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: two – there’s nowhere else for the girls to lay, really. Feed hopper: full.

We have new hens; does that make us old hens?

Being confined (which we are) and being bored (like we are) we had nothing better to do than talk to the new hens. This is what we found out:

Ella is a black Orpington cross, just about to lay her first egg. She has a topknot she is overly fond of and is a bossy bitch – I mean she was only here five minutes before she took ME on! Cheeky! She also has a big ol’ butt and I’m not just being mean.

Sylvie, also a point-of-lay, is a dark-grey hen of VERY mixed parentage. She seems nice but dull.

Buttercup (point-of-lay as well – what is all this ‘point of lay’ business? Is The Female Person trying to make a ‘point’ about our ‘laying’?) has the most unusual feathers and the biggest, liquid-brown, cow-like eyes I have ever seen. A bit flighty though and very small.

Jack is finding it hard to contain his excitement. The new hens are all too young to be added to his ‘list’ but as they are point-of-lay they are nearly old enough. Jack keeps asking them questions about EXACTLY how old they are. And how old their mothers were when they started laying. And do they FEEL like they will lay soon. And would they like to see the nest boxes. So unsubtle, so unsophisticated, so typically rooster.

Day 260.

New Hens! Acrylic on canvas by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: two – Steve and Brian’s, they were locked in and bored. Feed hopper: full.

We were locked in this morning and spent most of the day cursing The Female Person for the mistake of leaving the gate shut again. But NO! No mistake about it! After lunch she turned up with three NEW HENS. See this is what I mean about not having control over our lives. What do we need new hens for? Jack is beside himself with joy (so predictable) but Steve, Brian, Camilla and myself are LESS than impressed. AND The Female Person kept the gate closed so we can’t ignore these new hens but have to share our feed hopper with them. It’s really TOO much to ask of grieving hens.

Day 259.

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

Brian is out of the house and having a dust bath finally. It took me about the same time to get over losing my three boys, but at least I still had Jack. They were real mischief too, my sons, but such fun. They would organise brave raiding parties into the people house. When they were found and kicked out they would come charging back with interesting (and ludicrous) stories of all the things they had seen.

They were Sent Away to a bird sanctuary down the road (so I heard from the wild ducks). I keep on hoping they will show up one day, all grown with hens and chicks in tow.

It’s a nice daydream to have sometimes. But the reality of being ‘kept chickens’ as we are is that in some things our lives are not our own. Sure we are fed and sheltered by the people and cared for in a way that lets us lead long and healthy lives, right into egg retirement and beyond. But sometimes when our wishes – say for going broody and having chicks, clash with the peoples wishes – say for lots of eggs, then we get a sense of deep powerlessness.

Oh well, the feed hopper is full, my belly is full and my days are full – that has to be enough.

Day 258.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – my egg of grief. Feed hopper: full. Smiles on dials: none.

Gosh, the atmosphere here is almost unbearable. Everyone (except Jack, who has given up even TRYING to pretend) really misses the Boys. Sure they were trouble, sure they gang-raped Steve a couple of nights before they were Sent Away, but they were our flesh and blood, so vital and full of fun and mischief. We are all rattling around in a daze.

Day 257.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – Steve’s egg of grief. Feed hopper: full.

I must say Jack’s been making all the right grief-stricken noises to Brian, but when he is out of her sight he puffs out his chest and walks like a new rooster. I reminded him (none too subtly) that those were his babies too and he cast down his eyes and said, “Yes, yes. Sad, very sad,” and then positively SKIPPED off for an almighty joyous crow – unbelievable.

Day 256.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – Brian’s egg of grief. Feed hopper: full.

Brian is inconsolable. She has now lost all her babies, even her lovely Paula. She has spent the whole day in the nest repeating, “What’s the point? What’s the point?” I asked her what she meant and she said, “What’s the point of sharing your love with chicks if they are just going to rip your heart out?” I can’t really argue with that at the moment.

Day 255.

The Boys. Acrylic on canvas by F L Campbell

Day 255. May 18
Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full.

Oh dear Dog, NO! No! No! NO! Noooo!! The Boys are gone! They have been Sent Away! The Female Person came and took them all last night. We were so sound asleep that we didn’t realise what was happening until it was too late! Brian saw them each go into a cardboard box and into the back of the car. Noooo! Not the Boys! They’re too young, they’re just BABIES. I mean, they still sleep in the NEST. What will we do without them? Where will they go? No! Not my grandsons! Bring back my grandbabies!

Day 254.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: just shy of empty.

Nice day today, full of relaxing and scratching and mooching around. We played a game with The Female Person we called ‘Hide the Grass Seed’. What happens is she spends ages spreading grass seed evenly on the lawn outside her house, then another large amount of time putting a layer of straw on the seed, just enough to hide it. Then we come along and have a fantastic time scratching up all the hay and eating all the seed. The lawn looks quite odd now as it is covered in wee hillocks of straw and lots of bare patches. We didn’t want to kill what (little) grass is already there so we made sure to poop on the cobbles in front of the house – chicken poo can be quite acidic on tender new grass growth.

It’s considerate of The Female Person to find new ways of entertaining us.

Day 253.

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

Brian is sobbing her heart out. Jack has told her the Boys have to go but she says over and over, “They’re not ready, they’re only babies, they still sleep in the NEST!” Jack’s gone to talk to the Boys, to give them a positive spin on it, sort of play up the “independence” and “chance to do what you want without me getting in the way” side of things. I of course side with Jack – it’s such a squeeze in the house now that they’ve grown so big. They are rowdy and disruptive, they hassle us hens unmercilessly (especially Camilla) and they are ungrateful and undisciplined. Definitely time for them to go cooping on their own. Steve is SO glad Camilla is a hen.

Day 252.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Bad dog dreams last night: three very vivid ones.

By feathers those Boys are really getting on my nerves. Everywhere I go at least one of them is already there. And they are so identical in looks that you don’t know if it’s the same one following you all the time or whether there are actually many, many of them scattered around the property. They are definitely getting up Jack’s beak too. He’s forever chasing them away or catching them trying to mount one of us poor hens – then they really get a beating to remember. But they just keep on coming back for more. More food, more sex, more beatings, MORE of everything.

Day 251.

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

The Female Person had a friend come and stay the night and she brought not one (which would be bad enough) but THREE small dogs! One of them seemed rather more interested in us than is strictly healthy so we made sure to move VERY slowly and be very BORING. I have overheard a dog describing chickens as a “fantastic combination of food AND entertainment”! I didn’t like the image it brought to mind.

The friend kept a close watch on the dogs, and apart from their roaming eyes and their salivating mouths the dogs were very well behaved (unlike that gormless one that sometimes visits…)

A poem about dogs by Ruby
A dog will bark at anything, even its own rear end
To watch it lick its balls ‘cause it can’, really does offend
But what really makes me dislike dogs
And drives me round the bend
Is the way they look
At very dead chooks
And think their necks will mend


Outstanding.

I wish I could draw; then I would have a picture of a dog with a dead chicken at its feet and “Oops – we were only playing” coming out of a thought bubble from its head. Honestly! Do they not realise that flinging a chicken around by its slender and delicate neck will kill it? It’s a horrifying thought that anything could be that murderous without actually intending to be.

Day 250.

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

Yay! The Female Person has had the thing taken off her arm, and none too soon after yesterday’s little excitement. She looks a lot happier and celebrated by buying us a bag of millet and hand-feeding it to us.

Day 249.

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

Spiky spurs! The Female Person nearly ran over three of the Boys! Admittedly they were moving out of the way of the car ever so slowly in the belief that she would never run them over. This would normally be true, but with that great clunky white thing on her arm she drives like a headless chicken! The Boys are quite shaken. Jack says it serves them right for being so arrogant. So I see I’m not the only one with that opinion.

Day 248.

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

Cold today, cold every day with this moult. Didn’t feel much like going outside but when I finally did the Boys set upon me. No respect! I mean, I’m their grandmother! They should revere me, but no, what do they do? Chase me! Peck me! Even try to mount me if Jack’s not watching. So arrogant, the lot of them.

Day 247. Mothers' Day.

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

Apparently it is Mother’s Day today. This is one of the few good inventions the people can take credit for. What a lovely thought, celebrating being a mother to all those eggs and fine chicks. Everyone brought me, Steve and Brian ‘Bugs in Bed’ which we proceeded to chase around the house to the delight of Camilla and the Boys.

We mothers then had a lovely relaxing day. Camilla and the Boys tried their very best to display good and respectful behaviour (it was funny to watch them trying so hard).

Brian did a good job of coping but a celebration like this hard on the heels of the death of one’s chick is a bit of a trial really.

Day 246.

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

Stumbled in after dark and decided to sleep on the floor as I couldn’t be bothered trying to fly up high onto the new perch – and felt like a real git when I woke up this morning and saw the old perch in exact same spot as always. Duh. Apparently the new perch is to ‘complement’ rather than ‘replace’ the old low perch.

Day 245.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: two – NOT MINE. Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

What a day, what a day! More changes in the nest box. Brian laid an egg there this morning (she NEVER lays in the nest box) and then The Female Person took all the straw out (that she had just put in yesterday!) in preparation for the changes. Well, of course Steve decided she wanted to lay in the nest box as well but the builder person took AGES to do the renovations to the boxes and Steve complained BITTERLY all day long. It was mid-afternoon before she could sit down in private and finally lay. But all that squawking and pacing up and down that she did while waiting for the nest box was really unsettling, Jack was in a complete flap as well.

We now have new improved nest boxes (two big ones instead of three Little Ones) and a new higher perch to replace the low perch, which will be good for avoiding draughts. Secretly I’m a bit worried as I’m not sure if I can reach the perch now.

Day 244.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full – of frozen pellets!

Crispy, crunchy morning this morning; it’s the first of the frosts. The Female Person, with some help from The Male Person and their Little Ones, cleaned out the house and put down loads of new straw so it was very snuggly last night – just as well because the temperature plummeted. Today though has been very relaxing with a long dust bath in the first of the morning sun and then scratching for the rest of the day. Kind of boring but kind of satisfying too.

Day 243.

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

I feel I’m sufficiently well-feathered now to rejoin the flock full time again. It has nothing to do with that horrible brown cat noisily eating a mouse in my special spot. To think I called her a friend!

Anyway, it’s rather nice to be back even though no one took much notice of my return (or my absence for that matter).

Day 242.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: one – a thank-you present. Feed hopper: full.

The Female Person’s littlest Little Person is cute. Quite tame too. I got close enough to eat out of his hand this morning. Then in the afternoon they tried to feed me some special treats in the usual treat bowl but through some sign language and careful directing on my part I got them to take the treats down to my private spot.

It’s sunny too – life is good.

Brian has finally made an appearance and has eaten and bathed. She looks drawn and sad, but doing these small tasks is a good sign of recovery.

Day 241.

The path to my special spot. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full (THANK FEATHERS!)

Wonderful, wonderful news just in: wonderful, wonderful Peck‘n’Lay pellets just in! Actually not only is there Peck‘n’Lay in our hopper but also wheat and grit, AND the ducks’ hopper is also full so there will be no reason for the ducks to visit.

After filling my empty, growly crop I followed Brian’s lead and wandered off to a secret spot of my own that I have discovered halfway down the drive. Here the Boys don’t bother me and Brian can’t make any moves on my ranking in the pecking order while I’m ‘indisposed’ with the moult. (Not that she’s done anything since Paula’s untimely death).

My feathers are coming in slowly but surely.

A poem about death by Ruby
Dead and gone
Young or old
We all have to go

Memories fill the gap
But don’t quite reach the sides
Grief pours in
And other things too

Anger, guilt and sadness
All shape our loss
But happiness and fond reflections
Sustain us

Poor Paula
Too young
Too beautiful
Too alive
To be dead.


OK. That was intense. I need to not think about death anymore.

Day 240.

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

The people showed a little more respect today and planted a tree on Paula. It’s a green spiky number and looked rather lovely. I wonder if Paula will get a lump of rock. A lot of our dear friends who are now deperched are planted under trees and then given a lump of rock with their names on – very touching.

Mind you, if The Female Person cares so much you’d think she would FEED US. We’re starving! Oh, I know we’ve got scraps in the morning, can scratch all day, and then get a loaf of bread (not stale) in the evening but we want PELLETS. Gimme, gimme, gimme some Peck‘n’Lay.

Brian is still very low about Paula’s sudden death, which is to be expected. She has taken herself off to a quiet spot to grieve. We are all totally perplexed about Paula’s shocking demise. She was so young and healthy. Not purebred and not overbred – Brian and Jack aren’t related. It’s such a worrying puzzle.

I had a talk to John about his actions to his dear dead sister’s body. He was truly contrite and said that he’d had no idea she was dead; he just thought that for once she wasn’t playing hard to get!

Day 239.

Dead Paula! Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: empty, empty, empty, but who cares!

Bad, tragic and sad day. Paula has died. We found her this morning down by the ducks’ feed hopper. There was no sign of a struggle but no obvious reason for her death either. When we asked the ducks about it they said they don’t know anything except that she was dead (stupid ducks). We left her in peace though I noticed the Boys hung around for a better look. I thought this was only natural and made no comment but then John stood on her! Then pecked her!! Then MOUNTED her!!! I’m flabbergasted; I don’t know what to think. It’s too shocking; I mean, she’s DEAD, and certainly not in a fit state for recreational sex!

Brian has been wandering around shaking her head. At first I thought she must have something in her eye and I went to help her, but Jack pointed out that it was probably shock and grief so I left her alone. Poor Brian, no one deserves this kind of tragedy.

As a truly surprising footnote to this already odd day, when she was being buried by The Female Person Paula talked! I kid you not, as she was placed/dropped in the hole (none too gently, since The Female Person still has that thing on her arm) Paula let out a loud “Berka!” as she hit the bottom! Odd. The Female Person and her helper had to give her a little poke and call out her name a couple of times just to make sure she wasn’t pretending to be dead. They were laughing so hard at one stage that The Female Person had to wipe tears from her eyes. I thought it was a little on the beak to be laughing at such a solemn occasion.

Day 238. Late Autumn.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: less than zero. Gunshots heard: countless.

Duck-shooting season started today. Now, I make no secret of not liking ducks much but duck-SHOOTING season!? Why? What have they done wrong? (Except for being born as a duck rather than a chicken, that is). Imagine for one horrifying moment CHICKEN-shooting season! The only consolation would be that apparently birds have to be shot ‘on the wing’. Ha! It was many, many moons ago the last time I was ‘on the wing’ and even then it was only for a brief moment.

Paula didn’t come home tonight. She must have a nest somewhere – not that she said anything to me about it!