Thursday, May 29, 2008


Ever so slightly flaky neighbour over the road believes that we all go through periods of chaos.

Whilst I wouldn't subscribe to such hippy claptrap, I have to say that the fates are trying to tell us something about chickens.

After the spectacular carnage inflicted on our flock about a month ago, I put some eggs left over from the hens that bought it in the incubator.

The result was four fluffy yellow and red chicks, that hatched on Thursday and Friday.

On Saturday, a bushy-tailed gentlemen came calling again, breaking open the sides of the coop in which all our smallest chickens were living and consuming the occupants. The first I knew of it was when I was woken up at 5:45 am by the sound of a distressed chicken.

A Silkie who had been sitting, broody, in the corner of said coop, was wondering up and down the run in a distressed state, gingerly stepping over the body of a friend and piles of the feathers of her other friends. We had lost 6 in one night. The hallmarks were of a vixen teaching her cubs how to hunt- in all likelihood, they had broken the sides off the coop, scared the chickens into exiting the coop at speed, and caught them on the hoof as it were. The only one still alive was the one who'd resolutely kept her head down and sat on her eggs.

So, 6 down from a month ago + four hatched - 6 from Friday's visit. You do the maths. We now have more cockerels than hens, having chickened out of killing (up till now). The Rhode Island Red Cockerels we hatched last year are now huge and scary to the hens. There's good eating on them though. (quake)

And the chaos continues. Yesterday, between 6pm and 8:30 pm, a very large branch fell off the beautiful pink-flowering horse chestnut that overhangs the chicken run. (photo later when I've got some actual work done) Straight through both the wire fence and the electric fence.

The fates love us and our chickens at the moment, I tell you.

Monday, May 19, 2008


It appears that I may.actually.have.the.day.off.

Right, so what do I do now? (bearing in mind that I'm expecting some more work in later today.) I'm at a bit of a loss. There's that weeding...

Wednesday, May 14, 2008


"My life ambition is to commit genocide; failing that, I wouldn't mind murdering just one fox with my bare hands".

Should I worry about him?

The boy walked 35 miles in 28 hours last weekend, and was claiming by Monday evening that he could easily have done the 45 mile event. Am I bringing up an ubermensch or a braggard? (neither option especially appetising in the context).

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