Waiting For Jessops

There will be more posts (I promise) when I get my new camera. That would be the one I ordered late in the evening before Easter Sunday, two weeks ago today! Jessops promised next day delivery but I didn't expect that, not on a holiday weekend. It might come on the Tuesday or Wednesday. I was very excited. Still waiting and the amount I've spent on ringing up and giving off has probably cancelled any savings I made from buying on-line.

One of the customer services people assured me that the problem was they couldn't send the camera direct from a shop because it was being 'delivered to Ireland'. This was most amusing to me. I know this is Ireland, my heart tells me so, but politically and postally we are  part of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland. Another customer advisor assured me it would be delivered yesterday and it wasn't. Then a sweet girl said she was sorry for the mix up and promised me it was being sent from Belfast this coming Monday and I should have it by Wednesday. Belfast! I've been in Belfast twice since I ordered the damn thing. I could have been out there snapping away for over a week by now.

Still, as they say, a first world problem. I still have three cameras although two of them are shite. The one that isn't shite is an iPad and I only like to use it at home as it is unwieldy.

But it would have been nice to have had my new camera to take photographs of our solitary chick, the one that was part of a clutch that the two bantams, Honey and Flour were fighting over.

Co-Clockers, Honey and Flour

On Easter Monday morning Flour left the clutch, to eat and drink and Honey got on the eggs. I thought nothing of it and went to an eye appointment in Belfast. When Bert picked me up a few hours later he said there had been a calamity. He'd heard angry squawking coming from the inside and found Honey and Flour fighting viciously. The first egg had hatched and they appeared to be fighting over the chick. It was bloody and injured. Bert removed it and brought it into the house where it cheeped plaintively. It was marked on the back and near its eye and we thought it would probably die. Meanwhile out in the house the eggs had been abandoned. The bantams were separated. I considered hand rearing the chick but decided against it. Too much time and effort for a poor return. We offered it to the quarantined Honey who tried to peck it. Honey was put back with the flock and Flour put in the spare hen house. We tried the chick with her and she raised her wing and accepted it. And that was nearly two weeks ago.

An Only Child

A lesson has been learned. Next time they go broody we'll separate them from the flock and each other. That way there will be no adding to the clutch and no fighting. And maybe, next time, there will be more than one hatched. I still don't know if it is boy or girl. If it turns out to be a rooster Leitrim Sister might take it. After such a poor start it deserves a crack at life.

And that was another place where I could have used my new camera. Three days in Lovely Leitrim (and Sligo) at the beginning of the week and nothing but my ancient Canon for company. I did take pictures but they didn't delight me. But Leitrim, Sligo and Enniskillen did, that and the company of Leitrim Sister* and Yer Man**.

Pickles at Strandhill

*   Since February 2016 Dr Leitrim Sister.
** Evie's name for her Great-Uncle Nick.

Honey and Flour

Our chickens took quite a scattering this summer. Apart from the depredations of the fox we had another one died last weekend, probably from some sort of a respiratory infection. The vet was in the yard on Friday morning and Bert had every intention of getting her to look at it after she had finished testing the cattle, but she started talking about trees and headed off to look at what Bert had available and by the time he'd closed a gate or two she was off and away.

My advice was that he should pull her neck, the hen not the vet, but he didn't take it as he is becoming soft-hearted in his old age. I think that might be the Martha and Evie effect.

She died without the benefit of Bert stretching her neck. That meant we were down to four hens and one rooster and an average of two and a half eggs per day. Definitely time to replenish the flock especially as Bert and Ben had spent a lot of time fox-proofing the run with heightened fencing, reinforced at ground level and, best of all, electric fencing top and bottom outside the perimeter.

I had promised Martha and Evie we'd buy them each a chicken. Evie wanted a pink one and I had to tell her that chickens don't come in pink. Martha helpfully suggested that we could get a white one and dye it pink and I had to disappoint her by telling her that dye would not be good for a chicken's skin.

It was obvious that bog standard hens were not going to cut the mustard with them so after asking around we went to a guy who breeds bantams and other fowl. His place was rather out of the way so I reckoned Bert should drive us as he is usually good at finding his way around. Our van is only a three seater so I had to sit in the back, in the dark as there are no windows. It was very rattly in there but I was just about able to hear Martha and Evie singing their current favourite song, our friend Rod's version of Willie Nelson's It's All Going To Pot. The girls have got it nearly off pat now. Imagine their childish voices doing sweet sister harmony.

All the whisky in Lynchburg, Tennessee

Just couldn't hit the spot

I gotta hundred dollar bill, 

You can keep your pills 

Cause it's all goin' to pot.

Despite my specific directions and a Google maps printout and a photograph of the house Bert still got lost but I didn't mind. For we found the place eventually and the girls were delighted with it. There were ducks, chickens and bantams everywhere. And, best of all, lots of cute little fluffy chicks running around. We had to be specific as to the type of bird we wanted as they needed to be able to cope with the chickens we already had so, guided by the breeder, Martha chose a golden coloured Pekin and Evie picked a white Silkie. They had both been clocking so we also got a clutch of eggs. Back into the van.

The journey home was a good deal shorter as Bert did not go astray. Just as well, as I was sitting in the back with two quiet hens in a box and eighteen eggs up my jumper. The girls put their favourite song on and sang along. I couldn't have been any happier.

There are no pictures of the new chickens just yet. They are in their own little house, in nesting boxes, sitting on their eggs and we don't like to disturb them. Maybe tomorrow.

The hens will be called Honey (the gold one) and Flour (the white one). Girls chose the names themselves. They are called after food. I hope no-one tells Foxy.