Keeping chickens – the flip side
“There’s something wrong with Florence. She’s looking odd, not eating or drinking. She’s isolated herself from the others.” “Let’s put her in The Emerald Castle – with food and water of course. Away from the rest of the flock she can relax and concentrate on geting better.” Wise words from Danny that apply to any ailing chicken. It’s strange but it usually seems to be my favourite birds that keel over. As in any group there are some that have more attractive personalities. I still miss Mrs Boss, Carol and...
read moreSometimes there is a balance
This morning I woke late, having snoozed past the alarm. I now know that a snooze of an hour or so is a dangerous path to consider. Especially as I have chickens, dogs and Danny to feed and water, plus I need to shower and dress and check the greenhouse and heated indoor propagator and go to work. The morning buzzes with questions. Have I made the thermos and lunch for work? Will Danny discover his breakfast toast after his conference call? When will our leeks finally germinate? I shot down to the chicken run and saw a fluffed up body in the...
read moreFriday the 13th
My stepfather had an uncle who always stayed in bed on Friday the 13th . “The whole day?” Aged nine, I was amazed. “Yes, all day. He also used evaporated milk in his tea. To avoid too many trips to the shops, I expect.” My stepfather never revealed the name of this uncle but I had a clear picture of him. Firstly the bed. An single iron bedstead with stretchy mattress (no wife would put up with the evaporated milk). The carpet slippers nestling on the lino under the bed ready for shuffling trips to the kitchen. The chipped teapot, its...
read morePoultry in the snow
Sara at Farming Friends warned me that Guinea Fowl hate snow. This week’s snowfall is the first since they hatched in July 2007. So I was interested to see how Thunder and Cloud would react when I opened the hen house door. The feel of snow underfoot is always a pleasure for me. The crisp squeakiness takes me right back to our childhood winter garden. The shock of the cold and brightness. And there are always the footprints. “Are those really my steps?” As I walked down the garden I remembered my ninth Christmas. I was given a...
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