Chicken and Egg mystery

Summer: Eggs Galore Autumn: On Strike!

I’ve just found an egg in the airing cupboard. It slightly threw me to find it there and I thought for a fleeting moment that I had finally gone mad - a tad earlier than I had hoped.

Luckily I remembered, before I got too worried, that I had had a chicken in there yesterday, so it was not terribly surprising to find an egg there today. However, it was quite nice to find the egg whole.

Pretty Poult

I suppose I had better explain before someone calls the Funny Farm. I had put the chicken in a box in the airing cupboard because she looked ill and past experience has taught me that by acting swiftly and warming up the chicken can and does make a huge difference as to whether they survive or not.

Problem is I have no idea how the egg came to be on top of my sheets when the chicken was contained in a box.

I can’t for the life of me see how she got out of the box to lay the egg. It would mean that she opened the top of the box climbed out, laid the egg, then got back into the box and closed it up after herself.

Now that would take brains and much as I have huge respect for chickens, it’s not for nothing that we say that people have ‘chicken brains’ when they do something stupid.

I am at a loss.

I did think the children might have something to do with it but they have not had the opportunity and my husband is away so they are all ruled out.

I thought it could be the cleaner; but I was the one in and out of the airing cupboard yesterday whike we changed the beds and anyway why would she? It is not a normal thing to do, putting eggs in the airing cupboards.

And I couldn’t have done it as none of the chickens laid any eggs* yesterday for me to have carried one about to absent mindedly put it there.

So it has to have been the chicken…but how did it do it?

(*This non-egg laying situation is a slight bone of contention at present; I have warned them that should this situation continue it could lead to STUFFING if they are not very, very careful!)

Chicken of the Week

Chicken of the Week: Belle, a Yellow Pencilled Friesian

Chicken of the week is Belle, a yellow pencilled Frieisan from Holland.

Belle is two and a half years old and lays lovely white eggs.

She loves gardening, digging, climbing trees, rolling in the dirt and hunting bugs.

She loves all good food and particularly likes worms. She loves newly planted brassicas.

She would like to have her own brood one day but has yet to find the right cockerel.

I think I am a little chicken...

It’s way past my bedtime and I have been making respite homes for poults – young chickens - in the dark. To be honest chickens, especially when they get to that rather ugly teenage stage, aren’t that attractive or even endearing to look at, but for some unknown reason over the last eight or so years I have become rather fond of them.

It took me ages to even touch one and now I am making dens for them in the middle of the night so that they are safe and feel protected and I am not sure that that is really what I should be doing. But let’s just say that when you see six young chickens all covwering in a corner without any shelter because two fat old hens won’t let them in the hut there is only one thing to do…

You know this chicken keeping lark well it just happened. When we came up here in 2001 we just inherited them, a bunch of wild chickens and over time we sort of became attached. We renovated a Victorian chicken hut and they sort of moved in. we introduced some fancy cockerels and they sort of well bred and then we got serious without ever meaning to. Now we have Fat Boys, ones we intend to kill and eat. We have the girls, those we keep for eggs and then we get waifs and strays and I cannot say no even though I know I should. For heaven sake I even had to register with DEFRA as my flock grew to over 50.

I dread to think how much money I have spent on them I probably eat THE most expensive eggs in the country but there is one thing I can say they do taste delicious and I am not the only person who says so – egg connoisseurs from as far afield as Yorkshire and London agree. Even a few individuals from across the pond…

So perhaps I am not as bonkers as I think I am….

Operation Stuffing

I ate my cockerel. And very nice he was too. Usually I have a dilemma every year about my cockerels and the fact I have too many of them but this year we resorted to eating one and perhaps we'll continue.
It seems rather extreme and I totally understand but lets look at it from my hens point of view...
There you are, the sun is shining, you are minding your own business pecking away, scuffling up a bit of dirt and you spot a big fat juciy slug and them BAM!
WHAMBAMTHANKYOUMAAM!
You get up slightly dazed and shake your head a bit, the bugger who just did this to you really hurt when he grabbed the back of your neck with his beak. You chortle your disgust and give him the eye and then as you turn away to compose youself - BAM! It happens again with a different cockerel.
You let out an almighty squawk and make a dash for the barn where you join the rest of the disgruntled sisterhood. From then on in it is a case of slinking along the sides of buildings and peering around corners to see if you can make it to the hen hut where you can lay and egg in relative peace. You long for the grass and the weeds to grow long so you can hide more effectivley. You are desperate to lay an egg but you don't want any attention thank you very much from anymore lecherous young cocks strutting their stuff in the yard.

You plot the buggers downfall. You remember your youth when cockerels actually did more than just mount you. The days when they courted you and helped you find the juciest morsels, the time when they looked out for you. Now you just want them all to die and to leave you alone. Berlimey you can hardly eat without one or another trying to do his stuff without a by your leave! So much for long summer nights huh!
So you get the picture? Too many cockerels equals too many unhappy and exhausted hens. Solution: Operation Stuffing. I used to get someone else in and they would take the boys away now I am a little less squeamish and in the dead of night when all is calm and the chickens cannot see I slink down to the hen hut with deadly intent. Silently I open the door shine a flashlight in to identify my prey then bouff they are out and the deed done with hardly a squawk. The operation is carried out a few more times and tehn I leave. No evidence that the boys have ever existed.

The next day my hens are happy with the chosen few cockerels to stand guard, to treat them as they should be treated....
Top picture shows: 'Quasimodo' the Silkie Cockerel: a born gentleman despite his looks!