A Tale of Two Bullfinches

 

Possibly the same female taken a couple of years ago

First thing this morning I was out looking for survivors from the fox attack but there were none to be seen, just another area filled with feathers from a kill. That is at least two hen’s worth of feathers so far.*

We had another avian incident today. Bert and I were in the sun room when we heard a thud on the window and I saw a small bird falling to the ground. When I looked out, the bird, a female bullfinch, was standing on the ground, looking stunned. I wondered if I should just leave it there but, spotting Hannah coming back from her walk in the woods, with three dogs and two cats in tow, I thought it would be better to take the little bird out of harm’s way. I set it in the middle of the rhododendron hedge and went to make sure that the cats were kept indoors. When I got back, there was Cleo, trotting along with the bullfinch in her mouth. She gave it up willingly and her soft mouth had done the bird no harm. For its own safety I placed it in a cardboard box with a cooling rack on top.

Then after fifteen minutes or so Bert took it outside where it flew up into a hawthorn tree. A male bullfinch was perched further up the tree as if keeping guard. The female stayed for around 20 minutes and then was gone. I checked the bottom of the tree for signs of its fall but no bullfinch.

What a day for that wee bird.

Flies into a window and brains itself.

Is gathered up by a human and placed in a hedge that it doesn’t normally frequent.

Is carried off in a dog’s mouth.

Is imprisoned.

All being well she will survive this experience and go on to raise a brood or two. Maybe even three.

*The third killing site was discovered just outside the hen run. My lovely Jacqueline.

This may well be the same male bullfinch who waited for her today. Apparently bullfinches pair for life.

And Then There Were... None?

 

We were already down to four chickens. Then our new rooster (not pictured) was nabbed by Foxy at the beginning of the week. I kept the remaining three hens inside for a couple of days then, feeling sorry for them, I decided to open the hen run and let them run around the yard and garden. My logic was that Foxy would be unlikely to get them if they were running wild and free. At dusk they would return to the hen house and I'd close them in for the night. 

This evening it was past dusk when I went out to do that. It was dark and I took a lamp. The first thing I saw was a scattering of feathers, far too many to be normal. I shone the light into their house. No hens.  I went in, feathers everywhere, especially at the trap door. I looked around the run. Not all around it as it is overgrown, but there was no sign of hens either living or dead.

I went into the house feeling awfully sad. The hens had such a lovely time today. Every time I looked out the window or went outside there they were, scrabbling and pecking, enjoying the mild dry day. If only I'd gone out earlier maybe I could have got them shut in safely before Foxy got there.

I said to Bert,

I think our chicken-keeping days may be over.

And told him what I'd found.

He said,

You never know. One or two of them might turn up in the morning.

They were all old girls and we'd been planning to let them live out their lives then stop keeping chickens, get the run cleared and maybe, maybe start again at a later date. Part of me hopes that they are all gone because then I can stop worrying about them. Another part...

We shall see what tomorrow brings. 

Jacqueline. She was my favourite. The feathers that I found did not belong to her.

Ten Years On - Making Hay

 A post from ten years ago.

Sunshiney Day, Making Hay

At last, we've had some more fine weather. And there have been lots of outdoor activities. We've weeded and picked and gathered and sowed. And we've made hay - the old-fashioned way.

Martha is not watching Bert plant a tree. She is attending the burial of the big hen that Foxy tried to take a few weeks back. That hen was not itself for many days after the attack and although I thought she had recovered her spirits she died yesterday. Maybe it would have been better if the fox had finished her off at the time.

Later on, Martha and Judy had fun playing in the hay

Today was beautiful too. Maybe a wee bit too warm but we shall not complain. Leitrim Sister came up to stay last night and today we went to St George's Market with Zoe and the girls. Dede and I went on to Ikea and Martha came too. Amazingly I only spent £12.65 in Ikea. This austerity drive is working well. When we got back Bert and Clint were baling and bringing in the hay - the old-fashioned way, the way Daddy used to do it. A good day.

TW3

Only oldsters and media studies grads will 'get' the title of this post. Checking out the link on Wikipedia myself, I'm surprised I even remember it seeing as I was barely a teenager when it aired.

My own TW3 has been rather uneventful. We started watching that David Tennant thing Around The World in 80 Days. Enjoyable enough, and very much Sunday night TV.

Obviously, Bert has been glued to all televisual things historical and WW2 related. It has been Holocaust Remembrance Week. I lit a candle last night knowing that no one would see it. 

Enjoyed very much seeing on our family WhatsApp the first pictures of my extremely new great-nephew Seánaí. Kerry Sister and I are the only ones in the family who have just one great-nephew. All the other sibs have two. We are a family that is light on boys so are excited when we get one. Our parents Seamus and Martha have (so far) 25 descendants of which eighteen have been girls. 

Other news. Three positive Covid cases in our inner circle. One family, two friends. All mild cases so far. Bert and I are still testing negative.

By far the most exciting event of the past seven days was the Scruffy Hen capturing and eating a young rat. All the other hens were extremely envious and tried to steal it but Scruffy won the day. 

 Much excitement again tonight as I took myself off on a solitary date for one to see Belfast at the local cinema - the first time I've been to the 'pictures' in ages. I'd forgotten how annoying one's fellow cinema-goers can be. Crunching crisps, slurping drinks, kicking seats and then the one reprobate whose phone started ringing during a particularly poignant scene. Despite these annoyances, I enjoyed the film. Maybe a wee bit heavy on the Van Morrison tunes (there are other Irish musicians y'know) and Judi Dench was wonderful. She reminded me of several McAnespie matriarchs, especially Clare and Josephine. And now I'm home, sipping a glass of wine and catching up on my neglected blog.

Oh! One other thing - I was eleven years retired this past week and still love waking up in the morning not having to go to work.

Ten Things I Did Today

 

1. Got up ridiculously early thanks to Big Fat Fred who has worked out that if he races up and down the attic stairs, scratches all the bedroom doors and mee-yows piteously, that I will then rise raging and shouty from my bed to feed him/let him out and that he, caring not a damn about my noise and fury, gets everything he wants.

2. Returned to bed with coffee and finished  Muriel Spark: The Complete Short Stories which was mostly wonderful. I'd read lots of them before but it was a long time ago and I'd forgotten. Also, some things read in one's teens and twenties aren't properly appreciated. This is great because then they can be re-read and relished in one's later years. If this offends younger readers, too bad, you'll realise I'm right some time in the future. 

3. Checked the moth trap. Realised that I love beetles as much as moths and butterflies.

I believe this one is Nicrophorus Investigator. It eats dead things which makes it very useful.

4. Went to town with the aim of perusing the charity shops for something new to wear. The only pretty things I found would have pleased Miss Emily more than her Granny. Returned with four plates and two books.

5. Sorted seeds and sowed wallflowers and Sweet William - far too late but why not? They are seeding themselves at this time of the year anyway.

6. Received the illegal garlic cloves I ordered from eBay. They look alright. 

7. Ripped asunder my horribly rootbound monstera deliciosa, took cuttings and may well end up with eight new monsters. At least I can now sit on the upstairs bog without being smothered in big holey leaves.

8. Helped Bert make a pizza. All he did was top it and put it in the oven. OK, he picked and cooked beans and served too.

9. Watched the first episode of Vigil and liked it. Suranne Jones is incredibly real and beautiful. No wonder all the girls think she's so fine.

10. Remembered I hadn't closed in the hens. Did that thing, gazed at the stars and peed outside. Goodnight.

The One I Called Dolours

 

She got five extra weeks and enjoyed a lovely spell of weather. She was still eating and drinking but had lost all her mobility again. She was as tame as anything and so light to carry.

We found out today what ailed her. Dolours was only going to get worse and would die anyway. Bert did the needful thing and I took her to the woods. The bag felt weighty. It's a strange thing that creatures so light in life are heavy in death. I picked a lovely spot for her and came home. I still have her bed to clear away and all her dishes to clean. Tomorrow morning will be the first day in ages that I don't have to go out to her shed, wondering if she made it through the night and then have mixed feelings when I see that she did. 

No RIPs. Dolours will be food for the foxes tonight.

Drumrankin, Drumkeeran, Dublin and Dingle.

 On Monday night I put the moth trap out and captured just two yellow underwings. It's not advisable to catch moths on consecutive nights as it prevents them from feeding and breeding. But... two yellow underwings. Against my own (and Rachael's) advice, I tried it again last night. The trap I'm using at the moment isn't that efficient but I'll take that as a good thing. The moths are fine without being trapped and I do get to see a few nice specimens.

This one is a burnished brass, not uncommon and really beautiful. There were two of them. Here's hoping they were male and female and will be out there tonight, making sweet, sweet love. 

This was the only photograph I managed that didn't feature an egg carton so that's the one to share. Who needs to see yellow underwings at rest? They only look good when they're on the move. 

This beauty, a Gold Spot, was in the trap four days ago. The best picture I got was of the moth positioned on my hand. Unfortunately, my hand looked as if was attached to a drowned cadaver so far too vain to show that one. Have to make do with the grey egg box shot.

It was another scorching day. Sometime in the afternoon, the clouds began to gather and there were distant rumbles of thunder. The rain never came, just a couple of spits in the early evening. I'd be glad to see a shower and so would my flower and vegetable beds. As always, the fine weather brings out the heavy grass harvesting plant. The machines rolling through this yard get bigger every year. Just a few branches ripped off the horse chestnut and a gate post knocked over. Thankfully, the dogs know to stay out of the way.

We had visitors this afternoon, a couple of younguns, Emma and James who'd never stroked a hen before. Dolours obliged them. Dolours is moving around more and can now travel about four metres. She's eating and drinking well, pecking at vegetation and searching out insects. I am thinking of applying for a Carer's Allowance. 

In other news, I am delighted that Ganching will be visiting Nellybert for a couple of days. She is doing a tour of all four Ireland-based siblings. Drumrankin, Drumkeeran, Dublin and Dingle. Exciting times. It's a ridiculously long time since we've been together. 

My Feathered Friends

 Eight days now since Evie found the bundle of feathers and stink that used to be Helen and eight days since we put Dolours in chicken sickbay. Chicken keeping isn't supposed to be like this. It's supposed to be feeding, watering, cleaning out and gathering eggs - not all this death and decrepitude. 

Someone once told me that sheep are buggers too, always looking for fresh and inventive ways of dying, said that if they could die twice they would. Seems like hens aren't that far behind them.

The one that I call Dolours cannot walk. Apart from that she is well-feathered, alert and eating and drinking. I wish now that I'd taken her to the vet at the start, but I expected her to either die or get better within a day or two. She spent a good part of today in a shady part of the garden, nibbling seed and drinking water and looking around her like a gentlewoman enjoying a day at the seaside.

A vet's appointment is still an option even though I heard of a man, new to keeping hens, who was recently charged ninety pounds for a consultation and 2 grammes of lice powder. 

The one that Martha calls Sugar has been trying to hatch eggs since Easter and a couple of weeks ago I got fed up with lifting her off her stash and anyways, I wanted to find out if our rooster actually is intersex. She started off with three marked eggs, two of which have disappeared so now she is putting all her energy into sitting on one egg which, if it hatches, will probably be another rooster. 

I'm away out now to see if Dolours tried the freshly pulled lettuce leaves I pulled for her and in the meantime here is a photograph of the chaffinch that knocked itself unconscious by flying into a window. It recovered eventually. 

She was still a little dizzy at this stage. I was worried she'd lose her grip on the branch and gently lifted her off whereupon she flew into a clump of lupins. I left her to it and the next time I looked she was gone.

 

Helen is Found

 One month and a day ago Helen, my favourite hen, disappeared from the hen run. 

...we had a call from Clint. Apparently, there were a lot of hens wandering the road in front of the primary school. Anything to do with us? I checked and all my hens were home. Except for Helen. I spent an hour looking for her but no joy. And to think that only a few hours earlier Evie and I had been in the run hand-feeding her RJ Kerr soda bread.

Perhaps she'd turn up in the morning. Perhaps she choked on the soda and died. Perhaps Foxy…?

But she did not turn up in the morning.

I'd looked everywhere that evening, poked through the extensive nettle patch at the bottom of the run, looked under every gooseberry and blackcurrant bush but there wasn't a sign of her - until today. It was Evie who found her remains beneath the biggest blackcurrant bush right next to the hen house. I raked her out and Bert took her off for a decent burial in the midden. Poor Helen. I wonder if it was the soda bread?

Martha is staying with us tonight and she is currently hogging the TV. Under Bert's very nose she opened her own iPlayer account so she could watch junior telly. I advised her that it would be mannerly not to make changes to our devices without first asking permission. She agreed in principle. Tomorrow we are getting up early and taking the train to Belfast. We are both looking forward to it. Will take my mind off Helen. 

The Disappearance of Helen

 Bert and I were at loggerheads yesterday because I suggested it would be a good day to spray some of the nettles in the orchard. I hadn't mentioned this to him for ages yet he went off on one. Apparently, I should open my eyes for he’d already done it. I was raging at him. The usual passive-aggressive non-communication. He is pass-agg, I’m just agg. Called him a dick and gave off an unfriendly air.

After a few hours in gardening mode, I dressed properly and went to town where I bought cleaning stuff, including an ostrich feather duster. There was still time left before collecting the schoolies which I spent in charity shops. In Habitat for Humanity, I found two small Goebel vases, featuring Rosina Wachtmeister cats. They had a wintry theme but who cares, cat ornaments are for life, not just for Christmas. One of them had a note stuck to the bottom which read,

Bought on holiday Austria Zell am See, 17-24/6/06.

See! June! That person knew that Goebel cats by Rosina Wachtmeister aren’t just for Christmas.

At the Harryville shop, I bought two gardening books, 50 pence each and a box of magnetic scrabble tiles for sticking on the fridge. I thought that Martha and Evie might have fun with them. One pound.

I was still too early for the pickup so read my Hilary Mantel but it was so deliciously warm in the van I almost slept. Pretty much the first thing the girls said to me on arrival was, Can we get ice cream? I was happy to agree, I wanted some too, so off to Costcutters.

The girls did enjoy playing with the magnetic scrabble tiles and decided to put their names on the fridge door. Evie suggested that Martha put ‘Arthur’ as this is what her cousin James calls her. Martha protested and I don’t know for sure what she said to Evie but she received a kick for it and was most upset. Somehow it all blew over and they thought it would be funny to put different names so rather than Martha and Evie we had ‘Arthur’ and ‘Steve’ and Bert got ‘Fart’.

Meanwhile Ziggy had decided that the feather duster was his mortal enemy. I waggled it at him and he lunged and plucked one of its feathers and took his prize upstairs to worry. It was found under my bed in a very sorry state.

I told Evie that buying cleaning equipment makes me feel virtuous as if I’ve already cleaned the house. Then it occurred to me that because most of the stuff I bought comes with a recommendation from Mrs Hinch, the cashier must have thought I was a dick. Even though, for all she knew, I might have been buying it for someone else who actually was a dick.

Later on, we had a call from Clint. Apparently, there were a lot of hens wandering the road in front of the primary school. Anything to do with us? I checked and all my hens were home. Except for Helen. I spent an hour looking for her but no joy. And to think that only a few hours earlier Evie and I had been in the run hand-feeding her RJ Kerr soda bread.

Perhaps she'd turn up in the morning. Perhaps she choked on the soda and died. Perhaps Foxy…?

But she did not turn up in the morning.

Deadheading and Other Matters.

 

The tulip was almost past its best and since that picture was taken (a week ago) I chopped off its head. 

How did I get to be this many years old and not know that spring bulbs, especially narcissi, should have their blooms cut off when they begin to fade. This is to prevent them from making seed. Gardener's Question Time educated me on this point several weeks ago and now I know why my daffodils don't do as well in their second and third years. I don't know if it applies to tulips but I decapitated them as well. Just in case.

I am expecting amazing results in Spring 2022. If I live that long.

Martha took this picture of me feeding Helen, my favourite hen. Judy and Ziggy are terribly jealous of her. Martha thinks I should change Helen's name to Henlen. She came up with a plan to photograph and name all the hens. I am to start a Word document as a record. We armed ourselves with a camera each and headed into the run. Oh, she was full of ideas. Martha loves naming animals.

I urged caution. Perhaps best not to name them all at once. If we rush into it I'd only get mixed up. So far we have,

Helen or Henlen, so-called because she is blind in one eye. For I was taken with the story of Helen Keller when I was a girl.

Jacqueline - a very posh hen we got from Clint.

Sugar - named by Martha after she hatched from an egg laid by her mother Flour, a bantam long since dead. There was another hatchling she named Fudge but he sleeps with the foxes now.

The other 'rooster' who might actually be a hen or gender fluid, Martha named Artemis. Martha reads a lot.

And a pale hen is to be called Peach.

The other six chickens are to be named another day.

How I Pass The Time

 

We humans are not the only ones who have been locked up inside our homes because of a highly infectious virus. Outbreaks of Avian flu have required Helen and the other hens to stay indoors too. Now chicken restrictions have been lifted and they are now free to wander as long as they don't leave the yard.  

So I brought Helen over for a visit. Since she lost sight in her left eye she is the one that everybody hates and is not allowed to perch with the other girls. So I spoil her, make sure she gets (more than) her fair share of the treats. When I go into the run she runs over and allows me to pick her up and stroke her. 

Now that our own lockdown has eased I am considering a trip to Belfast. I've had two jabs of Pfizer and should be OK on the train with my mask and sanitiser to hand. I might do it this week.

We celebrated the easing yesterday with a backyard pizza party with friends. Sorry Italian people but this was the best pizza I've ever had. It was my once a week evening for wine so a great evening all round. The only thing was - ten o'clock came round and I was ready for bed. Looks like late night socialising is over forever. 

In Which Bert Is A Great Big Tease

LAST WEEK

Evie told me that Bert calls her pink booster seat a 'wedding chair'.

I said,

Why does he say that?

He says I'm too big for it. He says I'll still be sitting on it when I go to my wedding.

Well, that's not very nice of him. What did you say?

I told him I'm not even going to have a wedding. It costs too much money. I'm just going to live with somebody.

YESTERDAY

A sad day for hens. One died of natural causes and four by a fox. Needless to say, all roosters survived. Bert saw the arrogant brute this morning and considered shooting him but decided not to. We were letting the hens out to wander the yard every afternoon so our fault.

TODAY

We took Martha and Evie for dinner at the Pizza Parlour. It has changed hands and moved premises but the pizzas are still as good as ever. Bert ordered a large anchovy and olive and was almost beaten by it. I said, "Why don't you take a little break, then go back to it?" He said, "Yeah. That's what Italians do." I said, "And while they're taking their break they slip out of the restaurant and whack someone." He said, "While everyone else in the restaurant laughs loudly at silly jokes and no-one hears a thing."

Full disclosure, we just watched The Irishman, then GoodFellas, Bert for the fourth time, me for the first. I'd only ever caught the scene where Christopher from The Sopranos got his foot shot at by Joe Pesci, so sorry Italian-Americans for the lazy stereotyping, blame Martin Scorsese.

JUST NOW

Whilst uploading the Pizza Parlour photos from my phone I came across one on the family WhatsApp page, shared by my brother, a photograph of his beautiful first grandchild who died in September. There will have to be a new kind of Christmas in Ava's family, one where there will always be someone very special missing. It's going to be hard.

Fudge And Other Lovely Things

I'm feeling anxious tonight. One of our roosters (Fudge, the best-looking one) has escaped the coop and is running loose. Ben and I have tried to catch him but in doing so we have thoroughly spooked him. It happened while we were moving his lot to another house. I had him gathered up twice but he was too strong for me and got away. I hope his might stands him in good stead if he meets Foxy tonight.

It's been a while since the blog has been updated but there has been a lot going on. On Saturday I took the girls to a sixth birthday party and it was a hot day. Baking hot.

I love that Cooper the Labrador thinks that it is his birthday. Martha and Evie are in there somewhere.

Later that evening Bert and I went to Toome to hear A Talk. The subject of The Talk was the same as the recent film Maze (currently on Netflix) which told the story of the 1983 mass prison breakout from the Maze prison. The film was rather sombre. The Talk given by three of the people involved less so. It was an interesting night.

On Sunday Zoe and I and Leitrim Sister took part in Procession2018 in Belfast which was a wonderful experience. We marched with at least a thousand other women (and a smattering of men) from the Titanic Slipway to City Hall.

We were walking with the Leitrim group that campaigned hard for the recent Irish referendum on abortion rights. There were a few frosty faces from onlookers but far more reactions that were positive, particularly from older women.

On Monday I made cheese and onion pie and a rice pudding for our family dinner and Martha asked,

Granny, why is your rice pudding so tough and ricey?

Although Bert thought it was yummy. Tough and ricey is his favourite pud.

Yesterday I went to Ikea with Zoe and bought a very pretty cushion. There were thousands of them so I expect almost everyone else in the world possesses this lovely thing.

And another lovely thing...

This claret-coloured poppy just turned up among the ordinary self-seeded papaver somniferum that grows in the polytunnel. I must mark it and save the seed.

Fudge turned up! No chicken dinner for Foxy tonight.

Fudge is the big boy in the middle of the picture. 

Don't Mow. Let It Grow

This was, for a few years, a shorn lawn. Then the ride-on mower started playing up and we decided not to replace it as we found we actually prefer the long grass. As do the insects, the insect-eating birds, the wildflowers and the children.

In springtime we have cuckoo flowers and wild orchids growing through it. Dog violets and primroses grow profusely under the beech trees. There are not so many summer meadow flowers apart from plantains but this bugle appears to be colonising parts of the garden.

I've always liked long grass as this collection of photographs shows.

Bert has reseeded a small area at the side of the house that we will keep short as will be a lovely backdrop for my flowerbeds and hopefully it will keep the bindweed in the old hedge from encroaching any further into my flower beds.

The beginnings of the grass that will be mown. That bit at the back where Bert is digging a grave for one of my favourite hens will be kept wild. Too much effort to tame in and dead chickens need to go somewhere.

So what happened to the hen? Every day she escaped the run and wandered about wild and free pecking and scraping and living a very happy life. Only yesterday I was out and about doing stuff in the garden and I thought what a sweet picture she'd make against the emerald green of the new grass. I never did get round to fetch my camera and within an hour she was gone. Young Lockhart and His husky dog Phoenix had called to visit us and it had been a while, so long we'd all forgotten that Phoenix and hens don't get on.

Ah well. Was a quick end and she died happy.

Garden Pests

Northern Ireland is currently experiencing Summer Time and I have been making hay while the sun shines, or sort of... I have been weeding, sowing and planting and Nelly's Garden is actually looking OK. If it wasn't for all the interruptions life would be great.

First of all, I took Saturday evening and most of Sunday as a vacation from what the Americans call yard work. We went out for dinner with the Banjos and slept over. Then on Sunday, we all went to Garden Show Ireland. It was Marty and Jazzer's first visit (even though they live in Antrim) and I think they enjoyed it. I bought my usual geranium and wanted to buy some white papaver Orientale but missed out on pot plants so bought root cuttings from a beautiful Dutchwoman. Two white, two salmon pink and two red. Hope they grow! Going around the exhibits I realised that my bay tree is probably worth £120 and that the three trees I'm nabbing from Bert would cost me nearly 500 if I was buying them from a garden centre. And - the half dozen lupins I'd planted the day before and that were grown from a teeny little seed were worth nearly fifty quid at Garden Show prices. I actually felt quite rich.

Monday was family gardening day and it started off well when the black and white cow had a healthy bull calf standing by her side first thing in the morning. Then there was great excitement when Evil Edna started to show signs of imminent calving. Unusually, for Edna, she was considerate enough to hold off on the big reveal until the girls' homework was done, then had the calf birthed just as supper was being put on the table.

Yesterday Hannah and I went shopping in Antrim. I bought a hand weeding tool and Hannah bought socks. Bored with the shops we went to the Castle Grounds to walk. The council workers were still clearing up after Garden Show Ireland and I found a lithodora 'Heavenly Blue' in a bin and nicked rescued it. Another £7 saved.

Today, nothing much to do so worked in the garden. Planted geraniums, crocosmia 'Lucifer', cosmos, potentilla' and used my new weeding tool which is very useful for grubbing up dandelions and creeping buttercup. It was a very enjoyable day except for the invaders. First, there was the chicken escapees, three of the young hens that have no trouble flying over the fence. They spent the day in the flowerbeds gathering up grubs and insects.

Then I was wandering around taking pictures of this and that and heard this crashing noise and there was...

...Lily, who had to be quickly headed off before she started trampling on my freshly planted flower beds.

The next invader was driving a shiny red car that whizzed into the yard with one door hanging open and that turned out to be a mother and child delivering leaflets for a church lecture. I'd already noticed posters for this event in the village and was astonished that such people still walk among us. I told the woman that I was a firm believer in evolution and she looked at me very askance. She suggested I should come and add to the debate. I said I probably wouldn't.

Click to enlarge and get a better look at Evie's plastic dinosaur and the potentilla and geranium that flank it. The invite from the crazy people is propped against the alpine strawberry.  

Rooster Attack

When a rooster flies at you and puts his spurs into your leg, you notice it. This fellow was a big heavy lad and he ruled the roost. I'm going to miss hearing him crow tomorrow morning. Blogged on 02/06/2015



This is Duke, our senior rooster. He was reared as a battery hen and turned out to be a male so, as our previous rooster had been taken by the fox (see above), we gave him a home.

He was a timorous fellow to start with but, as his confidence has grown, he has turned out to be one of the most vicious roosters we've ever had. I have to keep a tight eye on him when I go into the run. Tonight I forgot. The seven youngest chickens take ages to go into the house at bedtime and I was giving them a bit of encouragement or, to be honest, chasing them, when he came flying out of the house and launched himself at my right leg, at knee height.  I limped into the house to clean the wounds, both bleeding, where his spurs had punched right through my heavy jeans. My knee had already started to swell. Of course, I was raging and considered having Bert kill him, or leave him out in the woods for Foxy to find. It's not as if he hasn't three fine sons to take up rooster duty in the hen run. But,  then I relented for he was only doing his job, protecting his flock.

Hopefully, my knee will feel better tomorrow and I won't lose the leg owing to some filthy chicken disease. Then he gets to cock-a-doodle-doo for another while and we won't be eating cock-a-leekie soup for our Sunday dinner.

That was the bad news. The good news is that my latest sourdough loaf was a big success and my grandson James thought it was delicious. Sadly, no pictures of the loaf for it got scoffed far too quickly. All I can offer is this picture of James after spag bol and a bowl of yogurt. I wonder if he would like some chicken soup?

Relatively Speaking

Last year, when my cousin Peggy was visiting from New Zealand she mentioned that she was putting together a family tree for the benefit of her grandchildren. I offered to share some of the information that I had gathered over the years, then promptly forgot about it. As I do. So today I get a message from Peggy reminding me and immediately sent her all the details I had on our maternal grandfather's siblings. And that reminded me that I'd never got around to recording that particular branch of the family tree onto my very complicated Family Echo app. So I made a start on it, and discovered about a zillion more relatives, loads of whom don't even look like McAnespies!

So there you go. A lorry load of cousins that I have absolutely no use for. They didn't give me one tiny percentage of the pleasure that I had when Miss Martha found the wee white hillbilly hen had laid me an egg.  At long last! It was immediately packed up with five others to be delivered to Martha's house.

Proper McAnespies, dapper and a wee bit nebby.

Birds of a Feather

We have sixteen chickens now. Sadly, four of them are roosters which is three too many. The seven young ones (a gift from the ever generous Les) were kept apart from the others for about six weeks as the four roosters would have murdered them. When we reunited the flocks I kept two of the cockerels in the old run but their sister would not be parted from them and kept flying over the fence and lingering outside their gate. I gave in, let her join them. That group are known as the Hillbillies because of their incestuous lifestyle. And the female hasn't laid one single egg since she got there. I have to say that last year's egg hatching experiment, whilst exciting, ended in disappointment. Five chicks brought forth, three males and two females, then one female dispatched to Dr. Leitrim Sister's rushy fields whilst masquerading as a male. Our Dede didn't even want a rooster and, as it turned out, she didn't get one for Miss Rocky is laying well.

There are seven or eight eggs a day coming from the other lot, most of them from the young hens. They stick together and have adopted the young white rooster as their harem-master. They knock around together and roost in a row at night. Duke, the old rooster, makes do with the two old browns and the two old blacks. The two brown hens chum about and they hate the young girls. The black hens are pals too. Duke perches on another part of the roost with the black hens on one side and the brown ones on the other. Thankfully the run is big and they all have plenty of room but there is definitely a distinct pecking order at scoff time. The old browns are the boss hens and everyone except Duke gets chased off. When my lovely bantams were here they stuck together as well and did not get on with the others.

I'd love more Silkies and Pekins but I'm not sure I could cope with their inherent broodiness and too many boys hatching. Unless I can toughen up and turn the cockerels into a nice nourishing soup. Peter told me this evening that he dispatched his rooster for raping the ducks but hadn't the heart to eat him. I don't think I could eat mine either.

The News

There is always too much news. Sometimes it comes from a distance and sometimes it is closer to home. Yesterday there was the news of the carnage at Westminster, too soon to say much about, just the hard facts, four people dead and many more injured. Anyone who has ever been to London will have walked or driven over Westminster Bridge. Indeed, my sister, until recently, walked over it regularly as part of her commute to work. Like all do, in this time of almost instant communication, I established that both London sisters were safe. And watched as the television news went round in circles showing the same sad and terrible footage over and over again.

And today's big news in Northern Ireland will be the funeral of Martin McGuinness, former Deputy First Minister at Stormont. Opinion on his legacy is, as might be expected, divided. We are a divided people here in these six counties but I'm happy to declare that I am on the side of those that respected him. I came late to that stance but then, we're all on a journey, are we not?

In Drumrankin, our wee bit of it anyway, the news is homelier. The chickens are free again and we are observing all the orders guidelines laid out by the government to protect them from avian flu. My main contribution will be to never set foot in a commercial chicken farming establishment. Should be easy enough to keep to.

Keep safe everyone, no matter where you are and don't believe everything you hear, even if you hear it from me.