Sunday, 21 January 2007

day of the poultry

Today has been The Day of the Chicken.

Kind of like the 'Day of the Jackal', but with fewer precision rifles.

I have been foolish, and weak.

Because of the dreadful weather, the eleven cockerels in Death Row Chicken Pen have been up to their little chicken ankles in a noxious mixture of water, wet food that they have scratched around, and of course, chicken excrement. I chucked a couple of pallets in when the wet weather started (ie, October) and there's been enough dry gaps for a) the ground to dry out a bit and b) for me to get in there and clean them out. However, the last couple of weeks have been so terrible that I haven't managed it.

Instead, yesterday morning I made a little hole at the edge of the pen and let them out in to the area that we have designated as the future, slightly larger, Death Row Chicken Pen. And I crossed my fingers and hoped that they would be sufficiently excited about being out of their little pen that they wouldn't go too far.

How wrong I was.

There was a general teenage "Whoo-hoo! Ladies!" kind of noise from them as they discovered that there were hens further up the garden. The Speckled Sussexes and the Pekins are a bit dozy and didn't really discover the full spread of Lady-Availability until today. But last night Exploding Chicken's Sister, from now on called Stevette McQueen Chicken, was missing. And the two Exchequer Leghorn boys were roosting in with the Pekins, and didn't seem all that bothered by which Pekins were boys and which were actually girls.

Classy.

And then this morning, the Speckled Sussex boys discovered the Ladies. The butchest one took on George, who bloodied his comb for him and retired to the top of the garden with his women-folk - I arrived at this point and he was back up against the fence with the girls gathered behind him like a last stand from a Western. The defeated Sussex was sitting sadly on the fence. And his two brothers were in the field over the road.

By the time I'd gone to ask permission from our Farmer Neighbour to tramp across his land, they'd disappeared.

Gah!

However, in the hedge a bit further up, I did find the missing hen who was so traumatised by the full on sex on offer yesterday, that she didn't come home. She was very pleased to see me and I caught her up very easily and repatriated her.

And then, I went to introduce myself to the neighbours and ask them if they'd seen my chickens.

They hadn't, but they seem very nice and I've invited them down for a coffee at some point. And also broached the subject of land purchase, hopefully in an in-passing, jovial, just-putting-this-out-there, non-threatening way.

And by the time I got home, the missing boys were all back again.

Which was nice, if frustrating.

Tomorrow we are killing, plucking, gutting and freezing eleven cockerels.

I may not post.



8 comments:

  1. Ew. Sorry, Ally, but I almost preferred the designer vaginas.

    Good luck tomorrow. Not for the cockerels, of course.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ew. Sorry, Ally, but I almost preferred the designer vaginas.

    Good luck tomorrow. Not for the cockerels, of course.

    ReplyDelete
  3. It sounds like precision rifles might have been the order of the day!

    So the Death Row Cockerels, when given a temporary burst of (slightly more) freedom, have been at it like rabbits. Rabbits? Ah.

    ReplyDelete
  4. It sounds like precision rifles might have been the order of the day!

    So the Death Row Cockerels, when given a temporary burst of (slightly more) freedom, have been at it like rabbits. Rabbits? Ah.

    ReplyDelete
  5. the chickens are doing there duty. at least they'll have lived better than the battery fed rubbish at the supermarket

    ReplyDelete
  6. the chickens are doing there duty. at least they'll have lived better than the battery fed rubbish at the supermarket

    ReplyDelete