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!