Day 56.

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

We went on a Great Gizzard Gravel Gather today. It was fun. Jack led us all the way down the drive, past the mountain and down to the small patch of gravel at the end, very near to the death strip that the people call a ‘road’ (we did NOT cross it). We all staggered back with full gizzards. One of the Boys did this crazy body-jerk thing, which made the gravel in his gizzard rumble like distant thunder. An enchanting party trick to be sure.

Gravel has uses other than party tricks though. Gizzards are naturally rough and this helps to grind up our food. But add a bit of gravel and the whole process is sped up – plus the added ground-up rocks help the shells of our eggs be super strong. I wonder if Steve appreciated THAT when she stomped on her eggs?

Day 55.

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

Sure enough, The Old Ones left yesterday and today the feed hopper is no longer full. Not good! Still, it’s nice to see our people back.

Day 54.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Disrespectful members of the flock: the whole bloody lot of them!

I sure love being a mother and a grandmother, which is just as well as sometimes you are treated with such utter disrespect that it can really stretch that love.

The Old Ones called us to the treat bowl and we all came running but we were way down the hill and I was a bit slow getting back up (just out of breath, not old). Well, pluck my feathers if I didn’t arrive at the treat bowl (last) to find it completely EMPTY. The ungrateful, disrespectful, good-for-nothing bastards had eaten everything! No one would look me in the eye as they obviously realised how rude they’d all been. It made me sad and put me in a real funk until The Old One tracked me down later and hand-fed me a special treat – he had obviously appreciated how rude they’d all been and treated me with the respect I deserve.

Day 53.

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

This place where we live (Pecka Pecka) is rather lovely. It is quite different from where I grew up (Otooky). I was one of nine hens raised in a small pen. Lots of different pens, with lots of different hens, all separated according to breed and colour (quite racist now when I think about it). A nice male person looked after us and made sure we were healthy and well fed but it was a strange existence.

We were born in a hotbox, we had no mother, no freedom, just waiting to be split up and sold off. It didn’t make for good lasting friendships. Still, I’ve really clucked in living here at Pecka Pecka. The Female Person chose me to join the tiny flock she had started. Until I came along she was buying chickens of fashion rather than chickens of substance – colourful, fanciful fowl with ugly hairdos, pathetic laying capabilities and the tendency to drop off the perch and die for no apparent reason other than severe inbreeding. I changed all that though. I was bred for elegance, egg-laying ability and excellent health. I haven’t let her down either (until very recently with a slight drop-off in egg production).

And here at Pecka Pecka I have freedom, friends and stability. I do miss the mother I never had though, and I suppose that is why I love being a grandmother and having young families around me.

Day 52.

Bush eggs: none. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Slightly rude cloud formations spotted while on my back in the dust bath: three.

Had a lovely dust bath today. Very cleansing. Very tiring.

Day 51.

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

I wrote a great cat poem to complement yesterday’s entry. I was obviously dripping with poetry then but had to let it percolate overnight into something truly terrific:

Cats by Ruby
Cats are stealthy
Cats are quick
Cats have habits
That make me sick

Cats are mean
Cats are ferocious
And their attitude towards birds
Is really quite atrocious

(And by birds I mean chickens as well, of course).

Day 50.

Bush eggs: one. Nest box eggs: none. Feed hopper: full. Snappy sayings for the day: one, Knowledge = Power.

I hate cats (especially after what happened to Steve’s chick and myself recently). I mean, their people feed them, but still they feel the irresistible need to pounce on and eat anything that moves. It’s disgusting.

I actually have a friend who’s a cat. Well, not a friend really, more of an informer. A sleek little cat, lovely dark-brown fur, she’s cheeky and likes to alarm us but has never actually harmed us (I’m just dripping with poetry at the moment). I chat to her sometimes. Jack thinks I’m mad but Steve and Brian think I’m quite the brave hen. But mainly I’m friendly with her because it gives me insider knowledge of a cat’s one-track (killing) mind. Not that the acquired knowledge did any good the other day but it may save someone’s life in the future.