Our first egg!!!

Tuesday 16th of June and one week since we got the chooks, and we are the proud recipients of the FIRST EGG! very exciting - did you notice, I resisted the pun? I have been checking the nesting box daily, and nothing! Started to expect nothing, so even better, it was such a suprise, to see a small, but perfectly formed egg.

Lizzie had her friend Rachel to visit - they were happily watching Twilight (again) when I dashed into the house and insisted they both came to admire the lovely specimin in situ. They looked as though I was a complete nutter, as I took a photo and went to tell the girls

how good they ere, and said thank you. Well, I thought I should. It seemed only polite?

Then, I while I was clearing up the destruction and devestation they had managed to achieve in the garden today, Charlie made a bid for the chicken cube, or chook caravan of love! Squatters rights he claimed, even having a little go in the nesting box? The girls registered their disgust by treating him to a view of their three bottoms, in a neat little row. He left in the end, satisfied that he had at least had a nosey around and safe in the knowledge that this was just an initial reccie and if only he could work out how to move his radiator bed and beanbag in, it would be his!

I rang my father to tell him the egg news, thanks Dad, for pointing out that so far, this single egg has cost over £600!!! Well, it was a very tasty egg!

Goodnight x

Indecision and First taste of Freedom

No sooner did I post the names of the Chooks, than I regretted it! I just can't find names to fit them. Nothing seems right. I'm scared they really are going to be 1, 2 and 3! Maybe Ena, Theo and Tria? I did have a suggestion that I abandon the search for names and just call them The Supremes!

So, catch up. Well it has all been happening. On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, the girls were imprisoned in the run and the cube, or chook caravan as I think of it, like a little tykes version of a Romany van. They were being lifted onto the roosting bars inside for bedtime and I was worried they would never get the hang of the ladder, and the idea that they had a bedroom to go to sleep in! Then on Friday evening, I went out at 9.30 pm ready to kneel in chicken shit, in the run, bang my head on the wire roof, and lift each one of the girls to bed. But they were not to be see, they finally did it, there they all were in a row, ready to be tucked in. Phew.

Today I let them out for the first time, I was so excited. It was a lovely sunny day and I came back from the Ski Lake around 11 am, checked all the gates were locked and opened the run door, pinned it back and sat on the floor. Out came Ena (who might be Harper) quickly followed by the twins. Off they went, their first target was the three metre border of Aqualigia, they must have know I'd been thinking it was self seeding a bit too readily, and they soon tidied it up for me.
I spent a couple of hours, pruning and weeding and planting out, followed by number 3/Daphne/Georgette really bold and nosey she is, and she even let me pick her up. Loud noises, sudden movements or imagined bird ghosts, sent the girls dashing back to the safety of the run. I was relieved and heartened by this, as I took it that they knew it was home. A whole afternoon and some of the evening passed, waiting for Tesco to deliver my new fridge (The old one did not wake up after the power cut) watching chickenvision.

Charlie came out to play, he got all brave, within a few feet of the girls, before being distracted, tempted back into the house, by the charms of the prettiest cat in Ampthill, Charlie's girlfriend Millie.

I'm not finding the words tonight, so I think I'll let the pictures tell the story.

Goodnight. x

Right, I've made a decision: Geraldine, Alice and Latita. Because they are comedy hens! Very british and very entertaining. Geraldine is the Pepperpot, as she has the black feathers, (and it makes me laugh that she is the thinest) and Alice and Latitia are the two Ginger Nuts, because I cannot decide which one is the daftest!

What's in a name?

I just cannot decide, here are some of the contenders:

Nigella, Clarissa and Delia

Agatha, Viginia and Vanessa

Harper, Dorothy and Daphne

Rizzo, Frenchy and Sandy

Geraldine, Alice and Latitia

Heratio, Boa Vista and Callie (HERatio - get it, thanks Monosso - BTW why aren't you following this?)

Or Connie, Evelyn and ANOTHER relative?

I like writers, Liz likes the Pink Ladies, lets call the whole thing off?

I just cannot decide, I thought I made my mind up with the Pink ladies, only to worry I was wrong. I do really like Harper, and I like the idea of the Gingernuts being aliterative, as they are sort of twins,. Aargghh! I give up.
At this rate it will be, No 1, 2 and 3.

I know, lets not talk about names for a few days and see where we get to.

Only a short blog today, I think I need to make these about once a week, as I was up so late last night writing, I was shattered at work today. I do like my sleep, so don't want to fall into bad habits. Only recently, with the purchase of a new bed, (memory foam is a marvel) have I started to slay the insomnia monster, so I really don't want it to get the better of me again.

The girls just did not get the whole, 'home to roost' thing last night, the torch didn't help, and they were still up, very late in the pitch black and I had to crawl into the run and lift them in. Harper/Agatha/Rizzo, (?) did not like it and she managed to escape my grasp and fluttered her wings and slipped away, I was quite stressed out there, knees in the grass and shit, in the dark corner of my garden crouched in the run, catching birds. Eventually they were all on the roosting bars, but the twins were huddled together, with Miss P ontop! (Maybe names from the L-word?) I guess they sorted themselves out as all was fine this morning and they soon found their way down the ladder?

So this evening, Lizzie suggested some corn on the entrance, and a step up to the ladder, we tried both but they wouldn't go in. The bigger twin perched on the bottom rung and pecked all the corn, then jumped off again. Then little twin did the same. Miss P is a bit superior, and watched them as though they were just too silly for words.

I've e-mailed the info line at Omlet for suggestions. I can't help thinking the rungs of the ladder are too slippy as they don't seem very stable on them, as though they need a fine grade sandpaper material on them. Maybe that is worth thinking about? Tonight I shall try a brighter torch and the corn again and call it a day at 9pm and lift them in again if I have to. My friend's chooks are in bed by 8pm, even in the summer, so I don't think I'll let these three turn into dirty stop outs.

On my way home this evening I popped into the local hardware store and bought strong, thick bins for the feed, grit and bedding, I'm trying to avoid getting rats if possible, and I've had a chat with Liz about sweeping up spills so there is none left on the garage floor.

Treats tonight were more garden strawberries, lettuce and red grapes. All gratefully received.

I'm a little sad for the girls out there in the pouring rain, it is relentless today, and I have to keep them in the run for the first five days so they learn that is home and their bedroom, so I think I'll try to save up the news til they have been out for a little while.

Sorry if there are too many typos and errors this evening, I'm bushed and ready for supper and an early night, so long as the ladies will allow.

Goodnight. x

Hen Day!

They are here! My lovely ladies have arrived. It has been such a long awaited and exciting day, I'm not sure where to start? The Omlet van arrived bang on time, at 12.30pm. I knew they were coming as Lizzie's friends had been texting her to say they saw the van with the chickens driving through Ampthill, not surprised, it looked just like the web site! George, was driving the chickenmobile, and he quickly got stuck into assembling the 'Cube' and Lizzie and I grew more and more excited, distracting George with our questions. He was very patient and thorough with his answers.

Earlier in the day, I took this picture of Charlie in our garden, looking all relaxed and happy. He slept throught he arrival of the van, the assembly of the cube and the unloading of the chickens. So much to his disgust, he awoke at 5pm, wandered downstairs for a small snack, and legged it outside for a pee. Well, he could not believe his eyes... Birds had arrived from outerspace, just appeared! No crop circle, no flashing lights, just a fully installed coop. He flattened his ears back on his head, and began taking tiny hunter steps towards the run, ever so gently, he was mesmerised, and did not avert his gaze, unblinkingly he approached his prey, then... The Miss Pepperpot, the black and brown hen spotted hin, she clucked and warbled and clucked, more noise than we had heard all day, the other two, Gingernut Rangers, more trusting souls, joined in and Charlie, turned on his heels and fled back into the house! He has been wimpering inside ever since. I am so sad to have upset him, but cannot help being a little disappointed by his yellow streak, fancy not getting within six feet of the hens? I have a feeling Charlie might think it was all a bad dream and be hoping that he can go back to sleep and in the morning, they may have returned to their own world.

It has been a lovely day, and I spend a cold and drizzly afternoon sitting by the cube watching the hens, taking a sip from the 'Glug' water 'Nipples' (?) or pecking food from the 'Grub' feeders, trying to work out a little of their characters. I can just about tell the two Gingernuts apart, one is larger, darker and has a spikier comb, and this pair do seem to be sticking together, like sisters. The Miss Pepperpot is the most curious, she was the first to try to climb the ladder into the roosting home, and she is the first to jump, easily scared, and was the first to spot Charlie and raise the alarm, so she seems more intelligent, curious, but with a healthy self preservation instinct.

G, from next door, as in P & G mentioned yesterday, came around with her daughter S, to admire the new additions, and were lovely, S was concerned she may not be able to enjoy her supper - yes you guessed it - Stir fry chi%$(n!Now this is an interesting issue, as I am vegetarian anyway, as of, ooh, 27 years now. (That is right Dad, and I do believe you still haven't actually eaten your hat?) but Lizzie eats meat. With my blessing I hasten to point out, it is me that bought and cooked it for her - I don't like to impose my views, and each to their own. I wonder if Liz will still want roast chicken on a cold winter Sunday. I guess we will have to wait and see how that goes.

I learned so much today from George, the Omlet man, and from friends who rang to chat and from watching the hens, my head is spinning and I don't know what to say, so I think I will sign off, just one more thing to do - put the girls to bed. It is nearly 10pm and they are still in the run. George was sure they would find their way up the ladder, to climb the stairs to Bedfordshire, but as yet - nope, they are still scratching and feeding and pecking and clucking, in the dark! I really want them safely inside, roosting and crapping in their new home, well, I won't be able to sleep until they do. George said I should pop a tourch in there if I had any problems, and they will follow the light to bed. Not so... Look.

Goodnight x

Only one more sleep...

Til the ladies arrive!


We are so excited. I returned home from work today to find the house without power, apparently Ampthill Substation blew up! Properly exploded, walls falling down, 62000 homes without power, no one hurt I understand, but dangerous and a real challenge to get us all back onto power. So I've not been able to write til now.

After salad for tea and failing to persuade Lizzie to play Scrabble with me, the lack of power prompted a major garage tidy and clear out. I tragically now have an area for hen paraphanalia: Straw, newspaper, poultry grit, organic layer pellets, and of course, egg boxes. I know it will be a while til they lay, but I cannot help saving them, they look so optimistic in a little pile on the shelf by the paint pots and brushes.

So, I promised to let you know the reactions from my neighbours. I am so lucky with my neighbours, one side - M & D have 5 year old twins, C & A honestly, C & A, they are actually fab names, but I thought I'd give them initials for added mystery. All went very well, took the news with delight, saying how much the twins would like them and offering to help out when I am away. Phew.

I had not managed to see my other neighbours, P & G til tonight, and I was so nervous of telling them. Not that they are not lovely and helpful, kind neighbours (which they are) but because when I first told my Dad over the phone, that I was thinking of getting hens, there was a small pause, a slight sigh and then one word.
'No.'
That was it, no, just no, as though I was asking his permission or awaiting his blessing. He managed to make the no, stressed, as though spelled, nowwa. Adding weight to the full stop. Now to be fair, I normally am asking for his approval, but this just made me laugh. As well as being red rag to a bull, no - did he say no? I was even more determined to go ahead with the plan. But I did want to know why he said no?
'Why ever not?' I asked.
'Think of your neighbours, it is just not fair, they make too much noise and they are smelly and ...' one went the reply.

Well Dad has come around, he even did some research on the web, asked about and has become very interested in my new project, if I am honest, I am mainly writing this for him and Mum, so that they can follow the goings on from the lovely village of Great Ayton, North Yorkshire, 220 miles away.

Turns out Dad's parents, Connie and Bill, inherited dozens of hens when they bought the land around their house in Bradford, and Dad had been a bit overwhelmed, at the age of around 5 years old, by the pecking, and scratching of a carpet of chickens, and in the end Connie insisted they went - I think due to the internal squabbles and pecking. The chickens, not Connie and Bill.

So, no wonder Dad initially said no, and I am delighted to report my neighbours, P & G, were enthusiastic right away; saying they had often thought about owning hens, they would love some themselves, and asked when they could come visit the new arrivals, G even asked what my price was for the eggs, free to lovely neighbours, of course, especially those that feed Charlie Cat when I am away, and whom I am hoping to woo into chicken monitors when I'm on holiday.

Funniest thing, when I said, how relieved I was, that I had been concerned they might not approve, P replied.
'Well we're getting a cow'!

Gosh, milk and eggs. How marvellous.

Goodnight.

x

HD (Hen Day) minus 2!

Only two more days til the hens arrive and I'm starting to worry.

(By the way, I think till should be spelled til, don't you? It is not a cash register, and surely it should align with until?)

Have I ordered the right feed? Organic chicken feed or layer pellets, what bedding should I get, will the shredded waste paper from the office do? Seems very green, but is it okay? What about old clothes, nice warm fleeces? Some web sites say straw, others that this encourages mites, so wood shavings, others say not as they are too dusty? What is a new hen owner to do? Last time I felt like this I was pregnant and dreaming I had forgotten to buy a cot and I had to make a bed in a drawer?

Like having my baby and thinking up names ( I was also sure she was a girl) I had lots of ideas on chicken names - they went as follows: Charlotte, Emily and Anne, with Branwell as an option if I ever added a cockrell. Penny, Pippa, Precilla, Gertrude, Geraldine, and Margot, Barbara, Clarissa, Jennifer, Rosie, and Jemima. For a while Geraldine and Jennifer (two fat ladies) were favourite, I love old English names. Then I made a complete arse of myself at the ski lake. (Main hobby for last 10 years or so is, waterskiing - and making a compllete arse of myself) telling people, I wanted to name the hens old fashined names like Geraldine, only to realise a lovely fellow skier - Geraldine - was sat right behind me and was laughing, indeed howling at my lack of tact. As anyone who knows me would expect, I did not manage this with any degree of grace or humility, but ploughed on, my mouth would not stop, as I dug the hole deeper and deeper, my lake friends watching the train wreck in horror, and even while still banging on about what a pretty name it was, how it was the name of The Vicar of Dibley, my mind was screaming - stop talking! But no, my mouth continued to blurt rubbish in a ridiculous attempt to cover up my embarassment. Open mouth, insert foot!

Anyway, now I am pretty sure I like Connie (or Constance) and Evelyn (or Eve), the names of my two dear departed grandmothers. Lovely old fashioned English names that hopefully will make my family smile, and amuse my daughter.

Connie was deaf as a post, but knew exactly what was going on, you could not get a thing past her as I learned to my cost when trying to hide an early addiction to cigarettes, no chance, she knew I was smoking, and lying. Connie and her husband Bill had a huge garden and she was always pickling, jamming and cooking the produce, and they had lovely homegrown dried flower arrangements.

Evelyn was a tough old girl, who survived the unfortunate and early death of her husband (Bicycle accident, fell onto road spikes!) and whom I remember taking me out on the bus in the summer holidays, quite the aventure to places like Flamingo Land. She hardly ever seemed to listen, and watched Coronation Street like it was a religion. Evelyn smoked like a trouper, so had no idea about my secret addiction, in fact she was a perfect cover!

I wonder if I name the hens after these two ladies, one will never hear and one will never listen? I quite the fags so neither of them can grass me up now.

I need another name, as there will be three hens: Two Meadowsweet Rangers (Ginger Nuts) and one Miss Pepperpot. Lizzie wants this one to be 'hers' and wants to name her Pepper, I think she was up all night thinking of that one. I still think Geraldine. I guess I just cannot back away?

I guess, like having babies, it sort of doesn't matter what I think now, they will arrive and they will let me know what their names should be. The whole time I was pregnant, Lizzie was Hannah! Hannah Elizabeth, yet when she arrived, late (a life time habit) and forced out of her warm resting place (another lifetime habit) she simply wasn't Hannah, so it all got swapped around and Lizzie she is.

Right, off to the local pet store to spend money on every variety of feed and bedding they have!

x

Just one final post for today, to show you exactly how spoiled Charlie is, or to give him his full name, Lord Charlington Cat.

In his radiator bed, if only they made them adult human size!

Okay, already spotted a few spelling mistakes, will have to learn to edit and proof my work on the fly - the only real howler, making no sense, was bid instead of bib, Charlie, wearing a bib of course! Sorry, will try harder. x

Hen day minus four

Okay here we go, I thought I'd give this a go and start writing, I begin my next creative course in October and I haven't written other than work stuff for a couple of years now. I thought this might be a good warm up and quite a nice way for my family and interested friends to laugh at my latest madness...!

It really is silly, I work full time, live in a modern house in a large village, I go nuts if there is clutter or mess, and I like things neat and tidy, even my garden.

Now I'm getting closer to the point, next Tuesday 9th June, I am expecting delivery of my shiny new Eglu Cube and 3 hybrid hens! Madness, they will poo everywhere, wreck my lawn, and bring chaos to my home. Yes, hens I said, furry, clucking, shitting, pecking, dust bathing hens!

Maybe that is what I need, or want? Who knows? All I know is I am so excited, it seems a little adventure, something new, and different (although I am discovering - not so different, apparently I'm just jumping on the latest urban garden bandwagon?) and fun.

I fight a constant battle to get my daughter out from the TV or computer, to be outside, in the garden, park, lake, wherever, but not inside. I'm told hens are great company, funny to watch and fascinating - maybe Lizzie (that's my daughter) can watch chickenvision?

So, count down has begun, and what have I done to prepare? I tidied of course, completely illogical behaviour, cut the lawn with perfect stripes, weeded the flower beds, tended the veg and soft fruit, planted out my bedding plants, fed the tomatoes, and swept the patio.

Lizzie and I are not entirely alone, and this is going to be a big shock for our spoiled rescue cat - Charlie, he is probably going to have to adjust more than Liz and me to the new hens, and although I'm reassured that most farms have cats, that hens will fend for themselves, and that Charlie can stop the potential rat/mouse issue, and learn to live with the new girls, I cannot get one image out of my mind. For this I have my good friend Patrick to thank. He suggested Charlie would be in the garden, sat outside the run, awaiting the first tentative, nervous steps of the bravest hen, into the big wide world that is my garden, wearing a bid, with a knife in one hand, a fork in the other, licking his lips, his eyes bigger than his belly, delighted with the walking lunch I have thoughtfully provided!

More soon, including names, and breeds and reactions from neighbours, family and friends.

Night.

x