This is my last chicken memorial post, and the hardest to write. Bessie Chicken was special. Bessie came to us way back in February 2019, less than a year after we moved here, and only five months after we started keeping chickens. She'd arrived with two others, Rusty and Beaky, and all three had spent the first 18 months of their lives in cages. I wrote about them when they first arrived here. We put Bessie on the ground when she first arrived, and it seemed she couldn't quite believe it. It took all of thirty seconds before she started pecking and scratching the ground, trying to flick the earth into her feathers, her first ever dust bath. Bessie was pretty lively from the start, picking fights with our older chickens, Mildred and Maud. But she was affectionate, and was the first to jump up onto Peter's knee, and that remained her favourite spot. Young Bessie was curious and eager to explore, but she was always fond of a nice comfy sit down, and always appreciated a blanket or a cushion. After we'd had her about 18 months, Bessie got ill. Our local vet didn't know what to do, and in desperation we found a specialist chicken vet, quite a distance away, and they brought her back from death's door. She ended up with a hormonal implant to stop her laying (which was causing her all kinds of problems). She had several implants over her life, and quickly became our most expensive chicken, although we didn't begrudge her one bit. She even had a home visit from the vet, when they got caught in an avian flu restriction zone so we couldn't travel in. Bessie, Beaky and Rusty were a happy bunch, and I'll always remember how much time they spent hanging out under the swing seat together, lying in the dappled shade on a pile of hay. We lost Beaky in July 2021, and then Rusty in November of the same year. Such a sad time. Bessie and Rusty had a special bond, and Bessie even had a special little noise she made sometimes when Rusty came to sit on a knee with her. Bessie lived to be almost six years old, and it almost seemed like we'd have her forever. Several others who arrived after her died before her, but eventually, her time came too. So that's the end of chicken keeping for us. I don't think either of us will forget Bessie as long as we live. Well, we won't forget any of them, but Bessie was with us for four and a half years, and she was so special.
She lived for another 18 months after we lost Rusty, and she never made that little noise again. I like to think of them reunited now, along with all their other beaky pals, in the Great Dust Bath in the Sky.
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Sunshine and Budgie came to us in November 2021, along with Poppy, who we lost last year. They were rescues, rehomed through the British Hen Welfare Trust. Sunshine was enthusiastic and boisterous, with a pecking technique like a small child playing Hungry Hippos. Budgie was a calm, cheerful presence, always in the middle of things, never pushing and shoving. Sunshine loved digging, and was always quickest to spot a worm. She was usually first out of bed in the morning, and always came to inspect my work when I cleaned out the chicken house. Budgie was fond of all treats, but was the only one of our chickens to have been fond of a banana. They both had longer with us than they had in a cage, and I'll always be grateful for that, although they still went far too soon. Losing them both within the space of a fortnight was heartbreaking.
I'll think of them now, up in the Great Dust Bath in the Sky, reunited with Poppy, and Bunty, and Bonny. Miss you little beakios. This has been a restful weekend, the first one I've felt reasonably well in a while. I've tried not to overdo it, and spent plenty of time just sitting around with a nice cup of tea. The big event of the weekend though, was new chickens, and so most of our activity has been focused on that. We spent Friday afternoon building a partition in the run to keep the new chickens away from the current ones. The current chickens watched all this activity with indignation. On Saturday, Peter stayed at home to finish putting the final touches to the run, and I drove to collect the new ladies. We're still under bird flu rules, so there were strict biosecurity precautions in place. I wasn't allowed to get out of the car, so I didn't see the new ladies until we got home. I talked to them all the way back in the car, telling them about where they were going, and the beaky footsteps they were going to follow in. Skippy is smaller - she came out of the box curious, and it didn't take her long to start digging, scratching, and pecking everything in sight. It's such a lovely sight, knowing these ladies have never seen soil or the sky before, to see them scratching around and staring out of the window. Daisy, on the other hand, was quiet, subdued, and if one of our current chickens had looked like she did, I would have been carting her off to the vets. But rehoming day is always traumatic for these girls. They're pulled out of their cages, put into crates and into a van, driven to the rehoming centre, out of the crates and briefly into a barn, then into boxes, into cars, and driven to their new homes, all in one day. I know I'd be tired and subdued after all that. She does seem a lot brighter today after a good rest. We're keeping the old and new ladies separate for a few days, so they've got their own little house to sleep in, but of course they don't know that's what it's for, having never had a separate house to sleep in before. Last night, we went to the run just after it had gone dark to find Skippy on top of the house, and Daisy up on a perch. We tucked them in nice and cosy. Tonight I went in to find them both on the perch together, cuddled up next to each other. I'm hopeful that tomorrow they'll find their way into the house. The older ladies are, of course, unimpressed. Sunshine and Budgie did a lot of shouting, and even Bessie, who's usually quite placid, joined in the chorus for a while. Things do seem to have settled down a little today - possibly they're reassured that their own treats supply won't be diminished by the intruders. Poor things. We've never had any that had lost all their feathers, but they do usually look pretty moth-eaten and ragged when they arrive. The story is that they're moulting, and that may well be the case, but ours have moulted every year and yes, there are feathers all over the run, but they never look like this. I can't wait for them to start preening and dust bathing. Anyway, this weekend hasn't all been about chickens, although the majority of it has been. I've finally got round to making soap, for only the second time since we moved here - I'll report back on the new recipe once I know it's properly worked. I've finally finished painting the second coat of yellow onto the kitchen walls - I started the first coat in November 2021 so this is quite an achievement! It's not quite felt like there's a hint of spring in the air, but my thoughts have started to turn a little towards the garden (in between torrential downpours), and I managed to plant out the hellebore my sister gave me for Christmas. And yes, a cafe trip or two, and a bit of plotting and scheming and letter writing. All in all, a most satisfactory weekend.
We got Poppy Chicken in November last year, one of a gang of three rescues we collectively named The Troublemakers. Poppy didn't seem able to stand when we got her home, and although she otherwise seemed cheerful enough, we still worried. Fortunately, we were able to ring the British Hen Welfare Trust advice line, who told us that often, when chickens are rehomed from factory farms, their legs can sometimes be damaged in the process of removing from cages into crates for transporting to rescue centres. We were advised to put her on 'cage rest' for a couple of days - shutting her into a dog crate with her own food and water, so she could see the others, but they weren't competing for food. Poppy was bright, and keen to eat, and on the morning of the third day we went into the run and found her standing. There was never any sign of a bad leg again after that. Poppy was full of mischief, and in many ways she reminded us of Rusty Chicken, who we'd lost not long before she arrived. She was friendly and fun, and always up to some kind of mischief. Poppy was curious, and was the only chicken to have ever jumped on the table and stuck her beak in the sugar bowl. She seemed poorly once, and we booked a vets appointment, only for her to make a miraculous recovery on the day of our visit. We took her anyway as a precaution, and she charmed the vet, jumping onto the scales by herself, and peeking through her legs as the vet was examining her. Poppy took well to free range life, and loved a nap. She always felt comfortable hanging out with us, and would often have a snooze on a blanket in the garden. I once looked out of the window and spied her on the swing seat, swinging away happily all by herself. In early November, we planned a trip to a friend's wedding - the first time we'd ever been away from the chickens for more than one night. My sister was coming to stay with them as Treats Provider. I'd picked up a friend from the airport who was coming with us to the wedding, and as we were showing him around the garden, we found Poppy lying dead by a wall near the house, with Sunshine standing over her. We don't know what happened. She'd shown no signs of being ill, and had been pottering around happily with the others. There was no sign of a flurry of feathers, and the others weren't harmed, so it wasn't a fox, although after a frantic search Budgie and Bessie were found in their house so they must have been startled by something. We think there was a stoat - they're common here, and Poppy had a wound to her neck, but it would be unusual for a stoat to attack a full grown chicken in broad daylight, especially when there is plenty of other food around. It's possible she collapsed for another reason, and a stoat just happened to be passing after. We'll never know, and it was very sad. Our friend had to attend his first (and hopefully last) chicken funeral, and it did put a dampener on the start of our holiday. We asked my sister to keep the others shut in the run while we were away, and the avian flu lockdown came into force a couple of days after that, so that was the last time they were out. I've never been much of a believer in the afterlife, but I'm comforted to think there's one for chickens. So Poppy Chicken is now in the Great Dust Bath in the Sky, along with Bunty and Bonny who we lost earlier this year, Rusty, Beaky and Chippy who we lost in 2021, Mildred and Maud in 2020, and Hermione and Luna in 2019. So fly free, little Poppy-o. I'm glad you got a year free with us, a whole summer of delightful wandering around the fields with your pals, eating worms, digging up the garden, preening on the sofa, and causing general chaos. We're down to three chickens now, and while (touch wood) they all seem well, it does seem rather precariously small for a flock. We despaired for a while, but fortunately the British Hen Welfare Trust has started rehoming again (with appropriate avian flu restrictions of course) so we've put ourselves down for a couple of new ladies in January. We miss all the ones we've lost, of course, but we're looking forward to giving a home to a couple more soon.
Last week we had to have Bonny chicken put to sleep, and as I was looking through my photos of her, I realised that in many of them, she was hanging around with her pal Bunty. Bunty went missing earlier this year, and as we always hoped she'd come back, I never did a memorial post. At this point, I think we need to accept that she's gone, and so here we'll remember both Bonny and Bunty together. Bonny and Bunty, along with Chippy, who we lost last year, were our only batch of chickens who haven't been rescues. We got them in June 2020 as point of lay hens, four months old. They were timid and jumpy, and our existing rescue ladies must have seemed quite intimidating. They soon got into the swing of things, and Bonny soon tried an experimental sit on my leg - something she never repeated. Bonny was always quiet and shy, always wanting to be with the others, but often at a little distance. Except with Bunty - they were very close and often found marauding off somewhere together. All chickens love digging, but it really was Bonny's special thing. She loved digging. She even managed to put her shyness aside and get close to us if we had a spade and there was half a chance of a worm. Her legs were so powerful, and if she wasn't with the others at the end of the day, she'd usually be digging in the woodchip pile or the windbreak, looking for critters. Bunty was less cautious, but still never got as comfortable with us as the rescues usually do. She did make an exception for showing her disdain for the chicken lockdown last winter though. We got these three young chickens because we thought they'd last longer, and be a core flock while as the rescues came and went. It hasn't worked out like that. Chippy died at just over a year old, then Bunty went missing a few months later, and now Bonny has gone two, at just two and a half. Most of our rescues have been older than that when they've died. Still, they had a good life while they were here, I hope. Here's Bunty. And here's Bonny. As far as we knew, Bunty wasn't ill, but she mustn't have felt like herself to just wander off one day and not come back. I can only assume she tucked herself away somewhere, and then was found by a predator. I hope it was quick. Bonny did get ill towards the end. She laid more and more lash eggs, never a good sign, and the vet gave her a hormonal implant. She looked like she might be improving, then went rapidly downhill, lost a lot of weight, and started losing her balance. It seemed that she had a tumour (at least as far as you can tell without surgery). I'm glad her last few days were spent wandering around the hay field. So goodbye Bonny-o, and goodbye Bunty-o. We miss you both already. It's never easy saying goodbye, and even harder when they're still young, it seems so unfair.
March has been a funny old month. We've had some glorious sunshine, and some freezing snow. We have been on strike at work for part of the month, which has caused disruption and stress, as well as a loss of wages. The chickens are still shut in under the Avian Flu housing order, and nothing feels quite settled. As usual though, when I look back, progress has been made and things are moving forwards. Inside the house We haven't made any more progress in the kitchen in March, although we did find these bar stools for £5 each in a charity shop, so we've been enjoying sitting at the breakfast bar. I promised myself I'd finish the painting in the bedroom in March, and I did just about manage it. I've oiled all the skirting boards with Danish Oil, and finished the final coat of gold paint on the walls. We've still not moved in... but we have at least moved the mattress and bed base in there, and have the dehumidifier on to make sure everything is properly dried out. I've also had a bit of a clear out of clothes in preparation for moving everything to the new room eventually. March was also the month we finally got round to taking the Christmas tree down. Chickens Ah, the chickens. The Avian Flu housing order is still in place. Last year it was lifted on 1st April, but the outbreak is much worse this year, so it's still in force, and because it's been more than 16 weeks, you can no longer buy free range eggs in the shops. What a mess it all is. Our chickens are lucky, and have an excellent, spacious run, with plenty of things to perch on, an indoor dust bath, and humans to bring them treats. Peter built them a new viewing platform in March, so they can stand and shout at us when they see us out in the garden. After a quiet month on the chicken front in February, we have had quite the palaver with Bessie in March. Bessie is our oldest chicken. She's an ex-battery hen, rescued at 18 months old, and we've had her for 3 years now. She's settled in nicely - here she is in happier times enjoying a sunbeam. Anyway. She started looking a bit poorly, and we suspected her hormonal implant was wearing off. Sadly, our vet is right in the middle of an avian flu outbreak zone, and so can't see chickens. Another chicken we might have risked a local vet - very nice, with her own chickens, but not a specialist - but for Bessie... we are sentimental fools. And so the vet came on a home visit, and then another one a couple of weeks later to check the infection had gone and she wasn't carrying any fluid. We eventually settled into a routine with twice a day antibiotics - Peter catching Bessie, and holding her head up, and me pushing two separate half tablets down her throat. None of us have enjoyed it... but we've got pretty good at it now, and it seems to have headed off the problem. Of course, none of this comes cheap, and we have had to have a serious rethink of our vet strategy. The rest of the ladies from now on will be going taking their chances with the local vet... Batch cooking On a related note, I've done an audit of our food cupboard, and am attempting to make a dent in it in April, in order to limit our spending on food a bit (ridiculous, yes, when we just spent four months worth of food budget on Bessie, but there we are). And so I've been batch cooking, which I've not done for ages, and which I've very much enjoyed. Brown rice, quinoa, red lentil dhal, two different pasta bakes - all nicely stored away in the freezer for work lunches and easily-defrosted tea. It's made me feel nicely organised and domesticated, and I'll be doing more of it this evening. It's so easy to fall into the trap of buying lunch at work, or getting home late and just having toast for tea. In the garden I've not done much in the garden yet - it's mostly been quite cold, and I've been focusing on getting the bedroom ready. But outside is definitely waking up. The daffodils are out along the drive, and there's even some frogspawn in the soggy areas of grass in the fields. We've had some frosty nights, but it's still been warm enough occasionally to hang the washing out, and to sit outside with a cuppa. I made a good start on cleaning out the greenhouse, and even found what I think are loofah seeds. I've not planted anything yet though - we're quite high up here, and seem to be behind many places in our growing season, so there's not much point. April will be the month though... The elders in the edible windbreak have started sprouting, and I spotted this cosy little nest last week too. The veg patch itself is looking barren, with only a few lonely sprouts reminding me of last year's failed harvests. We've been doing 'deep littering' in the chicken run for a few years now, and every now and then I dig a few barrows of lovely, crumbly compost from the bottom of the run and spread it over the veg beds. I'm also slowly spreading some of the wood chip mountain onto the paths. I turned some of the compost, and managed to twinge my back, but fortunately that seems to have recovered now. And I spent a day pottering about and moving all these pallets and bits of scrap wood off the grass - I'm going to want to mow at some point fairly soon and these were all in the way. The owls have been very active round here lately, with one in particular hooting at all times of the day. I found this owl pellet under the conifers - it's quite gruesome and fascinating to see all the little bones in there. So that was March, and as usual, listing everything here makes me feel like I did actually get something done after all. So what's on the cards for April? I'm hoping we can move into the bedroom, and start the process of turning the old bedroom into a craft room. I want to sow some seeds, of course, and do a bit of work on some of our dry stone walls before the cows come back. I'm investigating hiring a power scythe to finish off the hay field.
So hopefully there will be some good progress to report by the end of April. We'll see. Last Friday we had to have Rusty put to sleep. She was our favourite chicken, and our lives have a Rusty-shaped hole in that won't be easy to fill. Rusty came to us in February 2019, rehomed by the British Hen Welfare Trust, along with Beaky (who we lost in the summer), and Bessie, who has now lost both of her best pals in the same year and is looking a bit forlorn. The three of them had spent their first 18 months in cages, and Rusty was tiny and lacking many feathers. At the time, I wrote that she was our smallest and quietest chicken, and this was a phrase that followed her through life - while she remained the smallest, she soon found her voice, and was often found in our front porch shouting to be let in. Rusty was the bottom of the pecking order for a long time (until we got our new chickens last year). It didn't bother her though - she was opportunistic in her search for food, quickest to treats, and was often found wandering off in search of adventure. She was the only chicken to have ever wandered as far as the end of the drive, and we found her in the neighbour's garden, having hopped inside his house. We were driving past on the way home, and so we scooped her up, and she rode down the driveway balanced on a knee, flapping and wobbling about. Rusty was a great fan of jumping on things. She was always jumping onto tables, and visitors, in search of a treat, and no laptop or piece of furniture was safe. Once, we heard a great clatter and dashed to the kitchen, only to find Rusty on the draining board, and crockery all over the floor. Rusty invented what we would come to refer to as the Chicken Lift. She would hop onto your knee, then make such a big deal about getting off again that we started stretching a leg out and lowering it slowly so she could walk down. Eventually, she would jump onto a foot if you had your legs crossed, then wait for you to raise your leg so she could walk up. She was a pretty chicken, and in her later life developed a fine white collar of feathers. Rusty was pretty healthy through her life with us, although she did have a bout of egg yolk peritonitis about a year ago, which led to her having a hormonal implant to stop her producing any more eggs. This made her slightly quieter for a while, and her fine red comb shrank, but she was still herself, and I'm so grateful to have found a vet who knew how to do this. We had it replaced when it wore off earlier in the summer. We're still not entirely sure what went wrong. She seemed a little quiet and off her food - always a bad sign in a chicken. We took her to the vets, but her heart, lungs and everything seemed fine. She had a lump inside her back end for a while, but it didn't seem much bigger. She had a blood test, which showed very slightly increased levels of uric acid, but that might just have been because she wasn't eating properly. She had steroids to increase her appetite, and anti inflammatories in case anything was causing her pain, and a week later nothing much seemed to have changed. The next day though, her crop had gone squishy, and her breath smelled - a sign of sour crop. It was the weekend, and too late to get to the vets, but they prescribed antibiotics over the phone, and we made an appointment for Monday. They flushed her crop, and gave her Critical Care to top up her nutrition and fluid, and took a scrape of her crop. We carried on the antibiotics, and the scrape showed no sign of a fungal infection, meaning it might not have been sour crop at all. Four days later, she'd made no improvement. Her crop still hadn't emptied, and she still hadn't eaten anything new. She'd lost quite a bit of weight in four days, and the vet thought her lump had increased in size, although we'll never know if that was the case because she hadn't felt it herself before. She was looking very poorly by this point, and it was clear there was a blockage somewhere in her digestive system. We could have had a scan, but it was unlikely she'd survive any surgery anyway, and so we had to make the difficult choice to put her to sleep. We are distraught, and Bessie is sad. Rusty was everyone's favourite chicken - she was friendly and curious, and the most likely to sit on a visitor's knee or try to steal a sandwich. She charmed everyone, including us. Her and Bessie were inseparable, and Bessie always made a little cheerful noise when they both got on a knee together - I've not heard that noise from her all week. We seriously considered whether to stop keeping chickens. We adore them, but we are a complete pair of softies and we get so sad when they die. We decided in the end that it would be too sad not to have them, and, as our remaining three look a bit lost on their own, we have booked to take in another three rescues next weekend. We are gluttons for punishment, always.
So rest in peace little Rusty-o. As always, I'm glad you got to spend more time with us than in a cage. We will remember your mischief, your little noises in the porch, the way you would sit on a knee and stare searchingly at us. Bessie will miss you too. You've earned your spot in the memorial windbreak, and we'll always set aside an extra grape for you. Last Monday we had to have Beaky put to sleep. We are devastated. Beaky came to us in February 2019. She was a rescue from the British Hen Welfare Trust, and had spent the first 18 months of her life in a cage. She was a scruffy little thing, missing loads of feathers, one foot ever so slightly bigger than the other. Like Mildred, the scruffiest of our previous bunch, she made up for her lack of feathers by bossing everyone around. Together with Bessie, one of our other new hens, she scaled the fence to pick a fight with our existing chickens, Mildred and Maud. She soon learned her way around, and learned who gave out the best treats. About 18 months ago, Beaky got quite ill. The vet gave her antibiotic and calcium, but didn't know what was wrong, and didn't know whether she'd get better (we've since found a different vet, who is far more knowledgeable about chickens). It was the middle of winter, and we kept her in our house for eleven nights, hand feeding her and willing her to pull through. Eventually she did, and went on to be strong and healthy, with a fine red comb. Beaky was always up to something. Always sticking her beak in, always willing to give the others a peck if they stepped out of line. When we lost Mildred and Maud last year, she stepped up to become the leader of our little flock. Beaky was NOT impressed when we got the young chickens last year, and never lost an opportunity to show them who was boss. She was also not impressed about the avian flu restrictions over the winter. Like her old lady pals, she slowed down in recent months, and the three of them spent a lot of time napping in the hay under the swing (although of course they still made time to stand in our porch demanding treats). We realised a couple of weeks ago that she wasn't well, and the vet diagnosed a tumour. We gave her antibiotics and steroids, and did our best, but after just a week it had grown so much it was starting to block her vent, and she'd stopped eating much.
We'd got a vets appointment for a check up on Monday, but over the weekend she slowed down a lot, and we realised it was probably time to let her go. On Monday morning, the sun was shining, and we left her to potter around the garden with the others. They spent a while under the swing, dug up a bit of my veg garden, and then the three old ladies went to hang out in their old favourite dust baths. Finally, the others wandered off, and Beaky didn't follow. We gave her all her favourite treats, and she made her little excited-about-cheese noise (although didn't eat anything), and we took her on one final road trip. We've never had to make this decision before. We had Mildred put to sleep, but she was so ill she wouldn't have lasted the day, whereas Beaky was still walking around. It was the right decision, but definitely not an easy one. She'd been with us for over two years, and I'll always be grateful she had longer with us than in a cage. I'm grateful that the sun shone in her final weeks, and she spent so much time lounging round in the garden. Miss you little Beaky-o. On Tuesday we lost Chippy. It was all rather sudden and unexpected, and we are very sad. The Friday before, we'd been to the vets with Bessie, one of our older rescue chickens. She has a hormonal implant, and it was showing signs of wearing off. We noticed Chippy seemed a tiny bit quieter than usual, but nothing to unduly worry about. We kept an eye on her over the weekend, and by Monday she was still walking around and eating, but out of sorts enough for us to ring the vets, who squeezed her in that afternoon. By the time we got there, she was looking rather more unwell, but had a hormonal implant, and antibiotics, and anti inflammatories. She had a few treats, and slept in the hen house with the others. She was no better the next morning, so we brought her into the house, and got her nice and cosy on a bed of hay near the radiator. She stayed there, occasionally having a treat, and letting us give her medicine and a little bit of water with a syringe. Later in the afternoon she slipped away. Chippy wasn't a rescue hen. We got her, and two others, as point of lay hens last summer, after we lost our two older rescues, Mildred and Maud, in quick succession. That was painful, and we thought if we got younger hens, they'd stay healthy for longer. The teenagers soon settled in, and eventually the older rescues stopped objecting quite so much, and they all got along reasonably well. The young chickens, or Imposters, as we called them, found their way around, and developed their favourite spots. They always loved the hay field, and spent most of their time in there, digging for grubs. Chippy was the friendliest of the three. In the first few days, she jumped on my head when trying to get away from one of the older ones. She didn't like being picked up, but would happily jump on a knee or even a shoulder to investigate opportunities for treats. Chippy had her own special little noise, a kind of toot, more owl than chicken. She was the fastest chicken I've ever known, speeding across the run at the first hint of a grape, knocking the others flying. She could jump pretty high if she spotted something exciting in your hand. She was quite a character. Which makes it all the more sad that she's now gone, at only a year old, with the last almost four months of that spent in chicken lockdown, shut in the run. I never thought we'd lose the younger ones first. Too sad. We've buried her under the fruit trees, like we did with the others, and will do our best to carry on her legacy, always investigating, chasing treats, seeing what's going on. We'll miss you little Chippy-O.
Here we are on the shortest day of 2020. What a year it's been. But I'll save my reflections for the end of the year - who knows what will happen over the next few days. Today is a good day. I was up early, and lit a candle while I ate my breakfast, and I must say candlelit breakfasts are a marvellous thing and I plan to have many of them in 2021. After breakfast, I went for a stroll as the sun rose. Well, I assume it rose, as it did get marginally lighter, but it was difficult to tell through the gloom. I don't think we've got much chance of seeing the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter tonight. Later in the morning, an exciting thing - a delivery of woodchip, from a friendly tree surgeon. I'm very excited about this. The chickens are confined to their run because of the bird flu outbreak, and the hay we had on the ground was getting rather muddy and needed changing every week. I'd been looking for hardwood woodchip, as it's said to last many months in a chicken run, which seemed perfect. Sadly, the only places I could find that delivered used pallets, which require lorries, which do not fit down our narrow lane. Eventually I found a tree surgeon, who charged a little extra for delivery as we're an hour from him, but who dropped off this giant pile of hardwood chips this morning. This is about four times what I'd estimated we'd need, but he charges by the load, so I've taken it all, and will use the rest for the paths in the veg patch. I put a couple of barrow loads into the chicken run, and they're delighted, as it's full of woodlice and other critters. We're trying to change something about their environment every day or two while they're shut in, so they don't get bored and start pecking each other. A new bucket of woodchips will provide a nice bit of entertainment. I had to make a trip to the post office late morning, and while I haven't managed to get all cards written, I've done more than normal, mostly to people I don't see or talk to much. It's been nice writing long waffly letters these last couple of weeks. While I was out I nipped to my favourite bookshop cafe, ate a takeaway mince pie in the car, and bought lots of things (principally for myself, oops). I'm back home again now, and things are quiet. I've watched the end of a film I started yesterday, and eaten another piece of Christmas cake (there'll be none left for Christmas day at this rate). In a minute I'll take the chickens a bedtime treat (the older ones take themselves to bed about 3.45 these days), and I was contemplating a sunset walk, but I can barely see the end of the garden through the fog, and the sideways rain is making it even less appealing.
I've created a cosy little solstice corner on the windowsill (with my beautiful new solstice print from Kt Shepherd, which fortuitously arrived today, and some reduced-to-30p supermarket tulips), and I think I'll end the day where I started it, between candle and fairy lights, contemplating the year ahead and looking forward to the longer days. |
Hello!Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'm Jenni, and I write here about our new foray into country living, which includes growing food, knitting, baking, wandering around the fields, and seeing which local cafe serves the best cake. Categories
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