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. 

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?

Murder in the Chicken Run

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.

Yep! Foxy got into the hen run this evening, killed my beautiful rooster and one of the new chickens. He (or she)  dug a way under the fence from the garden of the derelict house next door. He'd already killed the big fellow and was making off with the hen. Bert gave chase and Foxy was unable to get his prize under the fence. So he didn't get his dinner. Bert had to pull the poor hen's neck as she wasn't completely dead.

I miss my lost roosters more than my hens. They may not lay eggs but they have bigger characters. I need to get another one and I need to make sure the damnable fox doesn't find it so easy to get into the run. Bert went out with the gun but saw no sign of it. I'm in two minds about killing them because I'd be thinking of hungry cubs. And Evie wouldn't be pleased. She's in the fox camp.

And from Hannah's perspective - this.

Photo by ZMB

Animal Loving

No! Not that kind of animal loving.

Today Dee Mac and I walked our dogs on the Galgorm Woods path. It was wet and we didn’t see many other people around. But there was this one old chap feeding the donkey that keeps the stable ponies company. Dee told me this man comes down most days visiting the donkey. We stopped for a chat with him and he told us he thought the donkey hadn’t enough to eat and that he’d love to take it home with him. He said he’d lots of grazing out his back. He’d just finished feeding it three carrots and an apple and for dessert the donkey was having extra-strong mints, which it appeared to relish. I don’t think the gentleman needs to worry about the donkey hungering as he’s not the only person who visits it regularly with pockets full of fruit and sweeties.

A bit farther along the path I spotted a fat grey squirrel shimmying up a tree. I pointed it out to Dee. “Oh that squirrel’s always there,” she said. “There’s a woman comes down regularly to feed it. She leaves food in the fork of that tree for it.” We walked on. Of course I had to call Paddy on as he was gazing yearningly up the squirrel tree wishing he could climb it and have that well-fed rodent.

We got to talking about the rooster Clint rescued from the battery cages. Poor Norris, as Dee has named him, is not doing too well. All those months squashed in the cages has weakened his muscle tone and he’s not eating much nor drinking. Dee got antibiotics for him and she is nursing him. She gives him a sort of chicken mash gruel and water from a syringe. He’s not that keen on taking it. Clint is threatening to leave him out for Foxy, which is a wind-up for sure.  Bert doesn’t think Norris will make it. Thinks he’s lost the will to live. Dee will persevere for a while. I’m thinking why do it? Why fight it? Those battery hens are bred to be short-term egg-laying machines. Roosters like Norris are not meant to be. If he lives to get some enjoyment out of his life it will be great but maybe better for us than for him.