Gardening and Archie......

For the past five days, the greenhouse has resisted the urge to pull itself from its moorings and disappear into the sky, sucked up by the invisible cyclone that wracked the UK. At least it was a warm wind.
Inside the greenhouse the noise was tremendous, the polycarbonate panels threatening to ping off into the wide world, but when it comes to planting I'm a maniac...I've got 20 metres of shelving to fill and by gad I'm doing well. There are just 6 more metres to go....

Last night, as the wind started dropping I noticed the temperature was following suit. I proudly lit my new paraffin heater and voila! .... no difference whatsoever!!! However this morning, when I looked out across our fields to spy a medium ground frost, I noticed that my greenhouse was all steamed up, (I must get a greenhouse thermometer...) and all the plants were looking good inside.

Take a look.



Garlic



Rudbeckia emerging

Lettuce

The other thing that's growing fast is Archie. He, and I mean HE, must be a He, because as soon as I open the coop door he pops out and jumps straight on top. He so wants to be roaming with the other chickens but I'm still fearful that the cats will try to attack him. Even his voice is changing, no longer does he cheep, he sort of squawks. I think one night next month, I'll take him and his two girl friends and place them with all the others in the main coop. Sadly, I'll have to lock them all in for 3 days to get used to their new surroundings and to ensure the pecking order, but after that Archie, Flappy and The Calm One can roam free at The Larches. I only hope Rooster and Archie can live together, we'll see!

I'm outta here....

Archie: Bad hair day...

Cock a coop...

New hens...new day

I opened the coop a little after 6:30am. 8 hens and rooster shot out. 6 terrified new girls huddled together inside the coop, fearful of adventure. I encouraged them out and they stood about looking in wonder at the world.

I could see the full extent of their captivity; bare patches of skin, flopping combs, white faces and legs and one chicken is hobbling about with what looks like an old injury of a dislocated leg and deformed foot. I worry that she might not be able to make the climb up the ladder back into the coop, but time will tell. We thought we might call her Hoppy but decided she'd probably suffered enough so we're calling her Happy.

After returning from school run I took a million cherries... re yesterday's post... into the garden to stone. One new hen hid between my legs as Whitey and Snow Pink tried to peck her. I soon put a stop to that! In fact I've been very Joyce Grenfell all day!

'No, no.' I say wagging a finger, glasses on the end of my nose, sticky red blood-like juice dripping down my arm, cherry stones stuck to my jumper.

They are operating as two groups of hens; the original gang of 7 and the new gang of 6. Rooster runs between the groups unsure of how to integrate them. I'd liken today to a 5yo's Birthday party. The new 6 are shy, clinging to me while the confident gang play all the games and eat all the sweets.

It's now 9:15pm and dusk is falling. From my office window I can see the coop, the hens are starting to retire for the evening but the white hens aren't letting the new hens in.... I'm really concerned that the new hens will be outside all night, fox fodder. I'm off outside to act as bouncer, I'll blog more later or tomorrow...

A Formal Introduction

Now I'm ashamed to say, that I've never really formally introduced you to the girls, although I'm constantly talking about Rooster! I call him Rooster but I've been reliably informed by the 5yo, that Rooster's real name is Road Runner. Good point, I'd forgotten that.

Anyhoo.....here are the gals:


Peachy, a terribly good natured girl



Snow Pink was originally called Snow White, until she gashed her body on a nail. I was forced to throw her on an operating table and spray her with animal anticeptic which is bright purple! Her chest has since faded to a pink colour.



Whitey, has remained Whitey as she's still just white!



Chocolate, with Cadbury flavoured feathers......I wish.



Lucy, our shy girl, who especially likes her layers pellets.



Pecky, on account of her peckyness! She almost had a friend's diamond ring the other day.....maybe we should call her Tea-Leaf!




Naughty Norah is utterly bananas. She is first out, last in. Wanders off by herself and is constantly in trouble. Last week we lost her, she was found under an upturned bin in the wood shed by husband!


A better pic of Naughty Norah!

The new cunning plan....

.....is our specially purchased, rinky-dinky electric fence! I touched it accidentally....it REALLY works. We'll turn it off during the day, so they can still roam. They will still be vulnerable while foxy-loxy has cubs, but I like the idea that they are free range, having been in the battery farms since birth.

Last night all girls + 1 rooster were put to bed and fence turned on. This morning we can report zero deaths. Phew!

....still gittin' me a gun....

I'm raisin' a posse...pard'ner! Wanna join? (please say in John Wayne accent)

The bloody fox came last night!

I should have known there was something wrong. I could hear rooster when it was still dark, but I couldn't quite fathom it and turned back to my pillow.

We lock the chickens in their coop, at about 9:30pm each night. We really only shut and lock the door: They're sweet, trotting in as the light fades, arranging themselves on the perches. There's usually a bit of a bun-fight as to who sleeps in the three nest boxes, but eventually the pecking order is established. Shut in their home, you can only faintly hear rooster, as he calls out through the night.

Last night was different. The fox came.

He first tried the back door, we could see the teeth marks. The lock held. So instead, he/she completely destroyed the nest box, attached to the side of the coop. He pushed up underneath, dislodging the wood. He must have been able to get his head and front legs, inside the body of the house.

Can you imagine how scary it must have been for my chooks.....like a scene from War of the Worlds, (the new one with Tom Cruise,) they must have wondered which of them was to be taken.

At 6am my brain finally woke up and I realised that rooster was way too loud, to be IN the coop. He was obviously free, roaming the garden. I instantly accused husband, who had locked up chooks.

'You can't count. Rooster's out!'

Having been awoken so early by mad wife, he assured me, in quite strong terms, that he could count, and moreover, that rooster was in the coop when he locked up.

Frustratingly I couldn't find my keys to unlock the front door so, in my haste to see the chooks and still in my pj's, I climbed out a sash window. Only six of the nine ran to me. But when husband joined me, two more girls appeared from the undergrowth - clearly traumatised.

We had eight hens and 1 rooster. We think we've only lost 1 hen, which is really, really lucky. Often the fox goes on a total killing spree and kills them all - without bothering to eat them! My friend recently lost eleven: Murdered bodies strewn everywhere!

Sometimes Rooster annoys me, he's aggressive. In this instance he was clearly defending the girls: Husband pointed out that there are masses of his feathers in the box. Hopefully he gave fox some of his choice pecks.

The 7yo and the 5yo aren't awake yet. I'm very sad to say, that I think their favourite hen has been taken: Laura hen R.I.P. The 7yo will confirm this later, when she wakes. She knows them all personally.




Load up, we're riding out.

Picture, courtesy of http://www.eohc.ca/cas.asp

Kissing a Rooster.....

The children seem to have decided that the rooster is way too aloof. He's positively stroppy in the mornings if I'm late from my bed, (it is the Easter Holidays AND I've got a code in my dose.achoo!) But does he care? No. He squawks at me nastily as I open his hen house door and struts around looking like Kellogg's evil twin.

The 5yo and the 7yo have captured him and are stroking and kissing him. Usually I'd tell them to put him down. He looks really cross, his comb is bright red and wobbling. But as he's been snooty with me in the past and he seems to have no etiquette d'amour with his hens, preferring to grab 'em by the neck and jump on, I am leaving him with my babies. Wouldn't be surprised if I next see him in the pram with a bonnet on....