The Day I Lost A Hen And Found A Neighbour

Yesterday I was working on the fence at the end of my garden. I didn't put the chickens away - as I often do, I let them put themselves back in the run and they come out at first light.

When I went into the garden this morning, I couldn't see the hens to begin with and then I found them at the site of the fence line, scrabbling away in the recently turned earth where I'd put a couple of new fence posts. Except that there weren't four chickens - only three. The other one appeared to have wandered into the garden at the back of mine.

After putting the three remaining chickens away to prevent any further escapes, I went around the block and knocked on the door of the house immediately behind mine and where I thought the chicken had strayed. It was answered by a woman who hadn't seen a hen but was happy for me to have a look for one in her garden.

The bird wasn't there but my neighbour came into the garden and we discussed chickens, the falling down state of the fence and my massively overgrown Ceanothus which I have said I will chop down. Her name is Carol and she's lived in the house 17 years. I've lived in mine 11 years and this is the first time we've spoken.

I haven't found the chicken (and she was the only one out of the four who regularly laid eggs throughout the winter) but I have found a neighbour!

The Rain

There seems to be a direct correlation between the weather and levels of egg production. The more it rains, the fewer the number of eggs the chickens produce. Perhaps they get tired of sliding around in the muddy mess that was once my back garden. Or perhaps they have to use all - or more - of their energies keeping warm. Either way, egg production when it's dry is 3 per day, and when it's wet falls to 2. So perhaps just one hen is a fair weather egg layer. How can I be so sure about this? Because I record the number of eggs that are produced on the whiteboard in my dining room. I'm running out of space now. I feel a spreadsheet coming on.

Three Is A Magic Number

Egg production has tripled over the past two weeks, from 6 to 12 and now 18 eggs in a week.  The obvious conclusion to draw from this is that three of the hens are now laying almost daily, which suggests that a few more eggs may yet still be on their way. So I'm now in the happy situation of having more eggs than I can get through on my own and can distribute free eggs to those people who've been kind enough to let me have supermarket egg cartons that they would otherwise have thrown away.  (It must be one of the spin offs of us living in a recycling culture now that people think nothing of saving empty egg boxes, although we used to collect old cereal boxes for school from time to time when I was a kid). However I've also become more aware of a problem that my ex wife alerted me to when she was tending the chickens while we were away in Tenerife.  It seems that there is a Gang of Three operating within the group, with one chicken being picked on by the others as a result.  One of the two white-tailed chickens (Angie) seems to be the dominant one, and Penny seems to be hen pecked by the others. The hens generally lay their eggs mid morning and Angie was clucking loudly away, which is the only time they generally make any noise unless they're alarmed by something.  A plastic football in the garden was a source of distress to them every time the wind got up and blew it across the lawn, but that irritation was removed when my son took a kitchen knife to it.  It seems that a visit to the nesting boxes necessitates some urgent clucking by Angie, who seems to have assumed this role in the absence of a cockerel.  Although I've just read a website that suggests that if I spend enough time in the garden with them then I'll be the dominant one, so we'll have to see. There is obviously a gang culture operating, with Penny chased away be the other birds.  Sometimes they'll be sat in the sun having a dirt bath while she's at the other end of the garden on her own.  What it's like to have no mates!

Three Egg Island

Well, back in the depths of January, when four hens were laying two eggs a week between them, I never thought it would happen. But today we reached a new high in egg production of three, with two having been laid yesterday. Three in one day is some achievement. It's been a team effort, and I have to say thanks in particular to the ladies, without whose sterling efforts none of this would have been possible. Three eggs. My goodness - I'm soon going to start making inroads into the world's biggest collection of egg boxes and begin distributing hem to the needy and the deserving. Well, to the deserving.

There must be some kind of etiquette around eggs that you give to people, eg. no straw stuck to them and no signs of poo. I don't know how they achieve that for supermarket eggs, unless they give them a rinse at some stage in the packing process. Still, a minor thing to worry about and certainly a good problem to have (although I have been making my own banana bread in an effort to use up some of my surplus eggs and have made four loaves in as many days, so that I am now sick of banana bread!).

Fresh Eggs

I've just rushed into the garden to see what all the noise was about as there was a serious clucking going on. Two fresh eggs were in the nesting box, and they were still warm from having just been laid, so that must have been the reason for all the fuss. So it wasn't a fox or a large cat!

Egg production, after plummeting to two eggs a week, now seems to have reached two a day, which means that two of the hens are laying and two aren't. Hopefully this is a sign of further improvements to come, and with warmer weather and the two birds that moulted having both regrown their feathers, I'm now in the happy position of having slightly more eggs being produced than I can consume myself. This is despite making three lots of banana bread in the past few days to use up some bananas that were turning black in the kitchen and the shop bought eggs that were approaching a month old. I may be about to give my ex wife six fresh eggs as a thank you for feeding the chickens six weeks ago.

Actually, I don't know why I thought a cat might be the source of all the clucking in the garden. I didn't let my own cat into the garden when I first got the hens as I was concerned that she might chase them, and her antics when the patio doors were between her and them was that she would pounce on them at the first opportunity as she twice threw herself at the glass as though she was hunting them. But two weeks ago I decided to let her into the garden while I was there and so that I could rescue them if she was minded to attack them and she cowered on the ground and cried to go back indoors. The chickens, meanwhile, were resolutely unbothered.

The only casualty so far have been my lawn, which is now a brown and barren strip of land, and my plant pots, which have been overturned by the feathered vandals and their contents tipped all over the patio. I'm potting up some seedlings today and so it looks as though the plant pots are all going to be transferring to my front garden, away from the vandals but within easy reach of any passing thieves. I think I'll take my chances with the robbers - I know the vandals will be back if they're given the chance.

Egg production

Egg production has reached six a week.  Now I don't know if that's one hen working hard six days and taking a day off, or four organised chickens working a strict rota system and each laying an egg in turn.  I suspect it's the former, because the eggs are all the same colour and size, and because a creature that can walk into it's open run and then not be able to find the way out again is hardly likely to have the skills to set up a shift system.  But it does raise an interesting question - how am I going to find out which chicken is producing the eggs and what would I do with that information?  If, for example, it turned out to be Angie who was laying eggs, would I then start thinking about whether Penny, Jolene and Shirley had no further purpose?  I rescued these hens from life in a battery cage to give them a better life, not necessarily to work on a production line in my garden.  And if I did 'off' them, what would I do with the birds?  I'm a vegetarian and I've always said that the only circumstances in which I would eat meat would be if I killed the animal myself.  But as the chickens stroll around in the morning sun, I don't look out the window and see three roast dinners looking back at me.

Still, I would like to know how to establish who isn't laying, and why.  It can't be diet, because at least one of them is laying quite happily.  So perhaps I simply have one productive bird, one duffer and two who are still recovering their egg laying powers after going through a full moult just a few weeks ago.  Having said that, I've just had three very tasty fried eggs for breakfast and the shells seemed thinner and easier to crack than some shop bought eggs, so perhaps diet is a factor after all?  Maybe they're not getting enough grit?  Some research is needed, I think.  And I need to persevere with the non laying chooks.  It definitely calls for True Grit.

No More Lie Ins

It's seven thirty and I'm out of bed on a Sunday morning. I haven't done this since my son was tiny and needed entertaining, feeding or his nappy changing. But being a chicken keeper places a certain degree of responsibility on one's shoulders, and on a weekend therefore I get up at least two hours earlier than I might have done otherwise to let them out.

It has been a difficult few weeks for me and the chickens.  The weather hasn't been too good, with more wet days than dry ones since I last blogged, which has resulted in the garden becoming a quagmire where I've walked across the lawn to the chicken run.  Not that the chickens have done anything to help on that score.  They scratch at any patch of land looking for food.  In terms of clearing out dead leaves from the undergrowth, they've done a fantastic job, but I've also had to place wire netting over the main flower bed to stop this being scratched out and to preserve the primula that have been pushing their way up.

Egg production has fallen right away, initially tailing off to one every three days and more recently to none at all.  I haven't had an egg in two weeks.  (Having asked friends and colleagues to save their egg boxes for me, I've now amassed quite a collection which grows into an increasingly vertiginous pile on the top of the refrigerator). Whilst the prospect of egg cartons collapsing on me is a growing risk, I'm not worried about the lack of eggs to place in them - yet.  Two of the hens have moulted over the past month and have only now grown their new feathers back, and various articles I've read suggest that the chickens won't lay in winter, so I'll only start to be concerned when the weather turns warmer.  Yesterday's Guardian had an article saying you should think of chickens as pets rather than profit, and in terms of income and expenditure that has certainly been my experience. The other stuff I've read suggesting that I'll have more eggs than I'll know what to do with sounds like the rantings of evangelists.

There has been one moment of real panic in the past few weeks. The chickens stay in their run when we're not at home, but as the evenings have become increasingly light, Bill lets them out for a while when he gets home from school. On one such evenng, he had let them out but not put them away again when it got dark. It was pitch black when I went out to put them away. I could only find three of them ensconced in the hen house.  It was a bitterly cold evening and the thought that one of them had chosen to roost in a tree on a night like this made me fear for its safety.  There was no evidence of feathers in the garden, which led me to conclude that it had made a bid for freedom and hopped over the garden fence rather than been predates, but a quick survey of nearby trees, shining my faltering torchlight into the lower branches, revealed nothing, as did my peering over the fence into the two adjoining gardens.  Bill and his friend Bruce were despatched to search neighbouring gardens and knock on doors, which they dutifully did.  When they came back chicken less I had to tell Bill that I thought that was the last we'd see of her.

Next morning it was still quite dark when I got up, thinking that by allowing myself an extra 15 minutes before I set off for work, I could have a further look for the missing chicken or its remains.  It was as I was opening the door to the coop to let the others out into their run that the missing bird emerged from the wood hut where she'd chosen to roost for the night.  The only place I hadn't looked! Since then, I have clipped their wings, as my friend Jenny - who has kept chickens for twenty plus years - said that the advice of the hen refuge place I got the chickens from not to clip their feathers was 'silly'. In casevi have to do another search of the local trees, I've also invested in a new torch.

Bill and I have also been away for a week's holiday in Tenerife during this time, so early on we've had to face up to the question - who's going to feed the chickens while we're gone?  This seems to be a concern that all chicken keepers agonise about, and which prevents some peole from getting chickens at all, but I am lucky enough to have my ex wife Kathleen and Bill has his school friend Bruce, each of whom live nearby, who were enthusiastic volunteers.  Kathleen has fed and watered the cat previously, so knew the drill regarding getting into the house.  For Bruce, I put a new lock on the side gate so that he could get into the garden without having to come via the front door.  Although I then left him the wrong key (which seems not to have stopped him getting not the garden!). The novelty of being temporary chicken farmers seems to have persuaded both that they enjoyed looking after the chickens, even if they weren't rewarded with fresh eggs every day as I'd perhaps suggested they might be.  "You can keep anything they lay," I'd said.

In the event, there was only one fresh egg that week and, as I've said above, egg production generally has declined.  Poo production, on the other hand, continues apace.  The birds insist on roosting in their nesting boxes, and when it stops raining for long enough, I'm going to modify the hen house so that the perches are higher, since I've read that that may be the reason they choose to sleep in the nesting boxes.  I've told Kathleen, again based on information gleaned from websites, that chicken poo is an excellent accelerant for the compost heap, and so she's asked me to supply her with a bagful.  We got divorced because of all the shit I was giving her, and now she's asking me for shit!