How I became a crazy chicken lady.
Last year our family rehomed four plucky ladies, all ex battery hens, courtesy of the charity British Hen Welfare trust. Since then our feathered friends, Betty, Patti, Gladys and Mary have been living a pampered life. It was my daughter's scheme, but somehow the crazy chooks stole my heart.
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Initially we thought we had security cracked, we had carefully prepared a small run for the chickens. Although not quite Fort Knox, there was fairly high wire fencing on three sides and an impenetrable hedge on the other. We believed that our rescue hens would be so grateful that they would stay put. Why would they wander? when their every whim was catered for right here. On tap water, layers mash, mixed corn not to mention the luscious green grass, weeds, oyster shells and grit.
Perhaps a domestic squabble made Patti fly the coop, but she was discovered hidden and quivering under a plant in our neighbours. Luckily no damage was done. Our friend next-door, has green fingers and a show-stopping garden, which definitely would not benefit from our hens horticultural help.
Although one free spirited lady Mary, definitely has wanderlust, she has been discovered in the out-of-bounds front garden a couple of times. Always looking a tad guilty, but incredibly pleased with herself, clucking contently before being chased back home.
Their coop is situated in a small covered run, but they can free range around our back garden. We aren't always at home and our rural location, means there are foxes, badgers and birds of prey nearby. So sadly this means the chooks can't free roam around the neighbourhood, everywhere they want safely.
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Initially we thought we had security cracked, we had carefully prepared a small run for the chickens. Although not quite Fort Knox, there was fairly high wire fencing on three sides and an impenetrable hedge on the other. We believed that our rescue hens would be so grateful that they would stay put. Why would they wander? when their every whim was catered for right here. On tap water, layers mash, mixed corn not to mention the luscious green grass, weeds, oyster shells and grit.
Perhaps a domestic squabble made Patti fly the coop, but she was discovered hidden and quivering under a plant in our neighbours. Luckily no damage was done. Our friend next-door, has green fingers and a show-stopping garden, which definitely would not benefit from our hens horticultural help.
Although one free spirited lady Mary, definitely has wanderlust, she has been discovered in the out-of-bounds front garden a couple of times. Always looking a tad guilty, but incredibly pleased with herself, clucking contently before being chased back home.
Their coop is situated in a small covered run, but they can free range around our back garden. We aren't always at home and our rural location, means there are foxes, badgers and birds of prey nearby. So sadly this means the chooks can't free roam around the neighbourhood, everywhere they want safely.
Their coop is situated in a small covered run, but they can free range around our back garden. We aren't always at home and our rural location, means there are foxes, badgers and birds of prey nearby. So sadly this means the chooks can't free roam around the neighbourhood, everywhere they want safely.
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT
Not long after our feathered chums had arrived Storm Ali hit Scotland. As usual, we went outside to shut them in at the end of the day. Disaster struck, I nearly stepped on a hunkered down hen hiding on our doorstep. Wet, sorry and totally bedraggled, was an apt description of me after hours of frantic torchlit searching for our missing chooks. The door to the run had been blown shut by a gust of wind, with three hens trapped on the outside, left to brave the elements.
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT
Not long after our feathered chums had arrived Storm Ali hit Scotland. As usual, we went outside to shut them in at the end of the day. Disaster struck, I nearly stepped on a hunkered down hen hiding on our doorstep. Wet, sorry and totally bedraggled, was an apt description of me after hours of frantic torchlit searching for our missing chooks. The door to the run had been blown shut by a gust of wind, with three hens trapped on the outside, left to brave the elements.
Meanwhile one lucky clucker Gladys, had sensibly gone to bed early and was tucked up warmly, enjoying a quiet night in wondering where everyone else had got to. My sense of guilt was enormous. What kind of mother hen was I? They had only lived with us a few months and I was meant to give them a better existence, but here I was carelessly losing one in a storm.
A sleepless night ensued, with one fowl still missing in action. The next morning was calm after the stormy night and I tentatively opened the tiny door to let out our three remaining hens. To be honest I half expected to find a sorry pile of feathers, somewhere in the yard.
But to my delight errant Patti appeared, from the dark recesses of the woodshed, unruffled and thankfully unharmed by her adventures.
POP GOES THE WEASEL
Online researching of legal methods of trapping, was not something I had ever planned on doing. However an obligation to look after animals, had me in a real moral dilemma. Eggs had been stolen, an ermine clad weasel had been spotted numerous times both inside the hen run and house while a chook laid an egg on a nest. Don't get me wrong, I love weasels and stoats but our place was now part of the regular meal run and as we were approaching mid winter the consequences of doing nothing were too awful to consider.
Meanwhile one lucky clucker Gladys, had sensibly gone to bed early and was tucked up warmly, enjoying a quiet night in wondering where everyone else had got to. My sense of guilt was enormous. What kind of mother hen was I? They had only lived with us a few months and I was meant to give them a better existence, but here I was carelessly losing one in a storm.
A sleepless night ensued, with one fowl still missing in action. The next morning was calm after the stormy night and I tentatively opened the tiny door to let out our three remaining hens. To be honest I half expected to find a sorry pile of feathers, somewhere in the yard.
But to my delight errant Patti appeared, from the dark recesses of the woodshed, unruffled and thankfully unharmed by her adventures.
POP GOES THE WEASEL
Online researching of legal methods of trapping, was not something I had ever planned on doing. However an obligation to look after animals, had me in a real moral dilemma. Eggs had been stolen, an ermine clad weasel had been spotted numerous times both inside the hen run and house while a chook laid an egg on a nest. Don't get me wrong, I love weasels and stoats but our place was now part of the regular meal run and as we were approaching mid winter the consequences of doing nothing were too awful to consider.
Our chooks, bless them have led a sheltered life. The don't know danger when it's staring at them in the face. In short they aren't like regular hens, who shriek, attack or run from danger.
After the deed was done we gave Mr Weasel, a solemn prehistoric bog burial and vowed to kill no more. Another weasel has since been spotted in the garden, but not in the chicken run. And you guessed it, the hens just looked at it quizzically. So for now, there is an uneasy peace.
Our chooks, bless them have led a sheltered life. The don't know danger when it's staring at them in the face. In short they aren't like regular hens, who shriek, attack or run from danger.
After the deed was done we gave Mr Weasel, a solemn prehistoric bog burial and vowed to kill no more. Another weasel has since been spotted in the garden, but not in the chicken run. And you guessed it, the hens just looked at it quizzically. So for now, there is an uneasy peace.
IN THE NEWS
IN THE NEWS
My next chicken update might explain exactly, why the chicken had to have a bath.
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