When we had two Bluebelle chickens, Smudge (the late Smudge) was very much Top Chicken. She bullied Stoorie somewhat, not in a major, unkind, vicious way, but certainly she walked around the garden and Stoorie followed in her path like a teenager following the most popular girl in the school. Smudge was the escapologist, she leapt over the fence around the chicken enclosure at every opportunity, leaving Stoorie behind. We didn't think Stoorie could jump that high.
Then, after a few weeks of solitary chicken-life, we discovered that Stoorie could indeed leap the fence. In fact she could leap over it not just in the one spot used by her late sister, but pretty much anywhere she chose. What she couldn't do, was leap back in! So we would go out for the evening for a walk or to see a film and come back to find her sitting on the table beside the back door, roosting in the dark, and on several occasions during the day we would hunt her down and put her back in the enclosure to make sure she could reach water and food.
When Faith and Hope arrived, Stoorie was quite uncertain about it all. To begin with she chased them. No pecking, but plenty of "herding". They would go in the eglu, so would she. They came out (smartish) and go and hide under the goosberry bushes, so would she. And she continued to escape on a regular basis.
But this week everything is different. Stoorie has become Momma Chicken.
We open up the eglu in the morning and there is what can only be described as a scrum for the door. It's like athletes in the 100m all trying to breast the tape at the same time, three chickens trying to get through one door, almost Laurel and Hardy in their enthusiasm to reach the food. After a couple of minutes they settle down and start doing the usual scratchy, preeny, pecky behaviour of normal chickens. And Stoorie is now "Top Chicken", looking after her "gels". Maybe we should rename her Miss Jean Brodie.
All day they follow her around. They dust-bath together (under the aforementioned gooseberry bushes). They chill out together in the warmth of the noon sun under the rhubarb leaves. And Stoorie has lost the urge to leap. She stays close by all day long. Or at least she does until about seven in the evening - the "gels" have no real concept of "time for bed" and need a little encouragement to go back in the eglu. One minute she is there with them and the next she has jumped over the fence and is walking up the steps purposefully towards the back door, ready to take up her evening roost. It's as though she has put the kids to bed and has earned her evening G&T in peace and quiet.
Despite the gels being on the skinny side, they are laying, and we have moved from a five-to-six eggs a week situation, to a fifteen-eggs-a-week plenitude.
Happy chickens, I think.
A fortnight ago they were living in cages with a base which was smaller than the average laptop computer.
I just need to make more cakes.
n
