Ours did anyway. But on Sunday, what would have been a large and tasty omelette turned into five fluffy yellow cheeping chicks peeking out from under their Mum’s feathery skirts. Say ‘aaahhhhh!’. It will now be ten weeks before they’re edible again.
Our chickens are separated into three runs – each of which is ruled by a cockerel. The Caravan Chickens (head man – Vera); the Shed Chickens (head man Red); and The Retirement Home for Elderly Bantams (head man Geoff). Geoff does his best but his ladies don’t lay. So it’s all down to Vera and Red. Both currently have broody hens – Vera has three, and Red has one, with, between them, five chicks and four uncracked so far. What to do with nine more chickens?
Naturally I’ve been busy building things to keep them all in, and away from jealous hens and angry fathers, while Sarah has been busy on the internet looking up things like ‘how ill can your chicks get?’ and ‘will new mother hens kill each other’s offspring’ and jolly things like that.
Apart from that we’ve had no rain for eight weeks. Lovely for the campers, appalling for the landscape which is as cracked as the Gobi. There will again be a hay shortage this year – fine if you’ve got some hay but not if you have to buy it. Interestingly our wild flower meadows are much more verdant than the other, conventional fields. Could it be that ancient unimproved herb rich meadows are more drought resistant? Now that would be good. Hay at a tenner a bale, and meadows that survive without water. Result! Plus our bees are now probably the laziest in Europe. ‘Look guys, breakfast’s just outside the door. No need to fly, just hop down here.’
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