Day 365. The last entry!

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

Hallelujah! Yes, Steve is with child again! I’m going to be a grandmother again. And so, despite life’s ups and downs, despite deaths, life flourishes and the cycle continues. I think this calls for another poem...

A poem about the cycle of life by Ruby
Life is easier than it seems
Filled with love and joy and dreams.
Chicks start life with great hope
Through life and love they lope.
Start families of their own
Watch chicks until they’re grown.
And with the setting of the sun
Think life was a game well run.
Chicks start the cycle afresh
End and beginning once more mesh.


THE END.


Endnote from F L Campbell

Although Ruby’s Diary is a work of fiction many of the incidents are based on what I have observed in my own flocks over the years. Ruby has quite accurately described 12 months in the flock’s life and I only helped by fleshing out the diary with other stories from flocks past.

Watching chickens; their individual personalities, their inter-flock politics, their interactions with the world around them was a constant source of fascination for me and writing about it helped cement the bond I had with these wonderous animals.

Sadly, during the final editing of this book, a terrible tragedy occurred in Ruby’s flock. A young Husky dog jumped into The Chicken Area. The gate was closed  – but what is a 4 foot fence to a dog that has just escaped its 6 foot fenced dog run? The dog had a morning of fun quietly ‘bothering’ all the chickens and ducks. It looked so damn pleased with its efforts when I caught it some time later. The upshot of the dog attack was that all the tame ducks were dead, Ella was dead, and Ruby...? Where was my wonderful, talented, beautiful Ruby? I went to the pond and saw Jack half submerged in the water – very dead, Ruby was near by. I believe Jack had tried to save her. I rushed Ruby to the vet but she was very badly wounded. Holding her down on the examination table as the vet gave her a lethal injection was one of the saddest things I’ve done.

I thought then that I wouldn’t be able to finish editing and publishing Ruby’s Diary as the sadness would be too great. But I quickly came to realise that I had to finish – as a tribute to all the great chicken personalities written about here.

I also realised that my remaining flock of five traumatised hens (Steve, Brian, Camilla, Buttercup and Sylvie) was directionless, stagnant and stressed without a rooster. I decided for their sake and mine that I needed to inject new blood into the future of the flock. I found three more hens – Laverne, Shirley and Bossy – and a new rooster, Mr. Wonderful – and he truly was. He brought such joy and cohesiveness to the flock once more and these additional chickens, plus the remains of Ruby’s flock, made sure the cycle of life continued.

Camilla and her new family to Mr Wonderful

Day 364.

Bush eggs: three. Nest box eggs: one – mine, mine, MINE! Feed hopper: three-quarters full.

Ha! There’s life in this old hen yet! An Egg. All Mine! No mistaking it! I have made sure to tell everyone – including Grey Gun who thought I was pretty talented AND an indispensable friend. Steve, there’s blood in this bird yet so don’t even think about taking my place!

Actually, talking of Steve, she’s not in the chicken house tonight. Despite her starting to put subtle pressure on me for my number three spot I still hope she’s okay and that nothing bad has happened to her.

Day 363.

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

I can’t believe it. Jack didn’t tick me off his list this morning.

Am I really no good to anyone any more? Not even for fun? Or habit, even?

Day 362.

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

It has been a really hard day. Any time anyone is around Brian makes sure to give me a peck. I’ve never really been anything but number two before and a rooster doesn’t peck a number two hen to enforce the order – he just ‘is’ and we obey. I make sure to stay out of everyone’s way but even that is not really working at the moment because Brian follows me around to keep me in order.

I feel very old and used up.

Day 361. Early Spring again.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full (as if I care).

I can’t believe it. Brian whipped me. I am now number three. Steve is already eyeing me up.
Where will it end?

Day 360.

Bush eggs: three. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Upstarts: Brian!

NO! NO! NEVER! NO! Brian has asked me if I want to step down from the number two spot or fight over it? I asked her what grounds she had for trying to usurp me and she mentioned my “fifty percent less than two eggs this moon cycle egg tally”. I hadn’t really been counting but I’m sure I laid more than one egg this moon!

To think I used to be her friend. Anyway the stroppy cow couldn’t whip me if she tried.

Day 359.

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

I shouldn’t have spoken ill of the dearly deperched. Valerie came to the second-worst end I’ve ever seen (Licorice being the worst). One minute she was standing there saying how she was off to lay one of her “extra special, super-duper BLUE eggs” and the next minute she had no throat. It wasn’t a ferret – not big enough – but the blur that got her was definitely either stoat or weasel shaped. Horrific. Unsettled us terribly to think we had such a quick and ruthless killer in our midst. But The Female Person and The Old One were on to it very promptly and caught the killing culprit (a stoat it turned out to be) within three days. Such a relief, and we’ve never seen another stoat or weasel since (touch shell).

A poem about Valerie by Ruby
Valerie was standing there
Minding her own self.
When along came death
And robbed her of health.

We saw the cause of death
It was a murderous stoat.
Quick as lightening
It ripped out her throat.

Valerie kept on talking
But no sound came out.
Then she keeled over
Like a drunken lay-about.

So no more kitschy blue eggs
From sweet Valerie.
And now we’re all very nervous
Could the next death be me?


Mmmm. I just keep getting better.

Day 358.

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

Four eggs again today. The girls are really doing well for this time of the year; it must be a touch of competitiveness. Not me though, I don’t feel the competitive urge. I used to when I was younger, though Valerie, the Araucana hen, often stole my thunder by laying one of those gimmicky blue eggs of hers. She wasn’t a very inspiring chicken, not much on top and no oil painting (unlike some I could mention), but every flipping time she pushed out one of those blue eggs she thought she was the pinnacle of poultry perfection. Personally I thought they looked rather unhealthy compared with my taupe ones.

Day 357.

Bush eggs: four. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Hen house: happy!

Camilla and Buttercup have come back, and as Jack had hoped they are now firm friends. It apparently started out badly when they were both terrified of spending the night in the bush but still couldn’t decide whose nest to spend it in. It was getting towards dusk when they finally figured out they should build a NEW nest TOGETHER. They said they really clicked after that. Camilla chose the site, Buttercup chose the materials, they got it built quickly, then snuggled down together and talked away the fear of the night.

This morning after telling us the story they both proudly took us to see the nest – complete with two little eggs.

Jack is so wise. I think Major would be super proud of him.

Day 356.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: pretty much empty. Hens tucked up snugly in the hen house tonight: all but two.

Jack called a Chicken Coop Council this afternoon and brought the whole flock together to discuss Camilla and Buttercup’s plight. He pointed out that they had been fighting rough for three days straight and were both badly exhausted, and that the flock as a whole was affected. He recommended that they BOTH share seventh spot and are BOTH last in line, which means they would share and minimise the punishment of being the lowest.

Jack told Camilla and Buttercup to go and discuss it, overnight, AWAY from the hen house.

What a sensible idea.

Day 355.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: one – Camilla’s, can’t claim it as my own unfortunately. Feed hopper: very, very low.

I was in the nest box, staying away from the fighting, when Camilla came in here for a bit of respite too. She was so preoccupied that she didn’t even know I was in the box next to her. It broke my heart listening to her sniffing, grunting, crying and pushing out an egg whilst being emotional – her first eggs should be special, not squeezed out hurriedly between battles.

Day 354.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: getting low. Bloody wounds: three.

There have been big battles between Camilla and Buttercup all day. We tried to keep out of it but they are so closely matched they could actually do damage to each other. They’re fighting like little roosters too, not just pecking and shoving but face-to-face jumping and clawing. I hate it, I can’t watch.

Day 353.

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

It is DONE but who dunnit FIRST? Yes, Camilla and Buttercup have BOTH laid their first eggs this morning so there’s going to be real problems working out who is number seven and who is number eight (bottom) in the pecking order. It makes a big difference to how you feel about yourself if you have someone to boss around, even if it’s only one someone.

This should be interesting.

Day 352.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Deep thought for today: just the one.

I’d just like to clear up something. People think chickens like to ‘peck and scratch’. If we pecked and then scratched we’d forever be hungry. We scratch THEN peck. Think about it – we scratch to uncover the food, and then we peck to EAT the food. It doesn’t work the other way round.

It’s a little thing, I know, but we all have our pet hates. The Female Person has a thing about labels on towels and clothes. I’ve watched her cut them all off, then she has no idea how to wash the towels and clothes as the labels have all the washing instructions on. So silly.

Day 351.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Weather: cold again... sigh.

Buttercup said she had nightmares about the whirly bird last night but I said it couldn’t have been too bad because we’ve seen The Female Person’s brother often since the big bird incident and he seems completely fine.

Day 350.

The day the helicopter came. Photography by F L Campbell

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Weather: warm at last... lovely.

I was telling Buttercup and Camilla the story of the whirly bird today to keep their minds off their impending first eggs.

It was a day like today: still, calm and sunny. Major, Bertha, Steve and I were out on the old drive by the house when this mind bogglingly HUGE bird dropped out of the sky and landed not two hundred chicken-feet from where we were standing. It made this awful sound by flapping its wings around in a circle and it kicked up a terrible wind that bowled me over backwards on to my fluffy behind! But if that wasn’t strange enough, the side of the bird opened up and The Female Person’s BROTHER stepped out. He had a brief talk to The Female Person (who didn’t seem at all concerned about her brother stepping out of the stomach of a huge bird), then he GOT BACK IN and the bird flew away!

The pullets were astounded. Feathers – I’m still astounded!

Day 349.

Bush eggs: two. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: half full. Weather: cold again, brrrrr!

Ha! Even Ella’s getting a bit sick of Jack’s ‘attention’ now, says she can’t be at his peck and call ALL the time. Steve, Brian and I assured her that his attentiveness won’t last forever and she should enjoy it while she can.

Steve was walking around with a leaf stuck to that overly fluffy backside of hers today. We should have said something but instead we just laughed every time she went past. “What? What?” she would say. “Just thinking about something funny,” we would reply. She was a remarkably good sport about it when she discovered what it was.

Day 348.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Weather: cold again, brrr.

I made sure to mention the EGG I laid and how I love laying EGGS and how I’ve got plenty more EGGS in me yet to the other hens, especially Brian. I know she’s planning something but I’m not ready to let go of my place in the pecking order just yet.

Jack’s spending more time with Ella than anyone (except Ella) is happy with. We reminded Jack that she is number five, not number two in the pecking order. It’s not that we older hens want Jack’s ‘attention’ but it’s a dominance thing, you know. He said something about finding Ella’s “large fluffy bum rather compelling” – takes all sorts.

Day 347.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: one – mine, I’m pretty sure. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Weather: cold again.

It was freezing cold AND raining today. All the others went out for a scratch but I couldn’t be bothered. I actually went and sat down in the nest – just for a warm little rest, you understand. Well, the next thing I know I wake up hours later and there is an EGG beside me. No one around, just this egg and me. It sure looked like mine so I’ve claimed it.

Day 346.

Bush eggs: none – frozen egg vents, I’m sure. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: three-quarters full. Weather: cold.

COLD COMBS, it was freezing today! We must have looked like a picture of misery, all huddled together on the front lawn, one leg tucked up into our feathery undersides, necks pulled right in, all heads to the prevailing icy breeze. It didn’t work though; no treats were forthcoming from the people house. Sometimes The Female Person takes pity on us and whips us up a big bowl of warm porridge and raisins, but not today. Sigh, we must be losing our touch.