Occasional Scribbles

I am in a state of nervous jumpiness.  Not because I am still worried about my Teen, (see post below) who is starving in New Zealand, no.  Though no mother ever escapes worrying about their children in one or way or another, so that is a perpetual niggle that has made it’s nest comfortably in the back of my mind as opposed to the nervous jumpy one at the fore.

The nervous jumpy one is as a result of the constant squawking from the loud mouth Cockrel.  It started yesterday morning when I heard a cacophony of noise outside and leapt up to see what the problem was.  When I got outside, there was no one in sight, chickens that is.  They had all scattered in different directions and I assume the nasty Mr Fox has been back for a visit.

Unable to find the chickens I leave it for a while.  I can hear the loud mouth far off in the distance possibly  coming from the direction of the churchyard which lies behind our garden.  As all the weeds have grown back I can no longer see into it.  A little while later, I peer out of the window and spy two lads hiding under the Yew hedge.  I know they are safe.  I wonder where Flo is as she is rather pathetic and my fears grow as I see Speckle, her adopted mum running frantically along the path under the window looking for her, (they do lokk funny when they run)!.  I really hope the fox hasn’t got Flo

Flo with new babies

 as she has been so hard to look after, what with being abandoned and brought up by the confused Daddies who the fox eat last time he visited.  In the back garden, I see one black hen with the three babies but I can’t see the other black hen who is always with her.  I decide that she must have been eaten this time as she is nowhere to be found. 

I go inside to break the news to The Other who is disappointed too.  “There’s only one thing to do you know”, he says.  “What’s that then”?  I ask.  “Well, we need to put a damn great sign round ‘loud mouth’s neck, saying, ‘I am a loudmouth, please eat me'”.  I have to laugh at this.  It is quite true that the fox always gets the hens.  The Cockrels whom we really don’t need, always run off and leave the hens.  Very naughty as they are supposed to look after them.  But then, imagining myself in their place, I think I would run too.

So at bed time, I look in the chicken shed.  It has been pouring with rain all afternoon and inside I find a sorry looking group, all wet and miserable and subdued.  I’m about to give them a sypathetic talk about the loss of black Henny when I spy her snuggled between two of the lads up on the perch.  Oh what relief!  She must have run away somewhere and returned later, unnoticed.

This morning, however, all the chickens are very nervous and this is what has made me nervous-jumpy.  I let them out fairly late as it is Sunday and they are entitled to a lie in as well, (which in fact they hate, but I like).  They come out gingerely and I warn them not to stray too far out of the garden.  Don’t they know that Mr Fox waits in the same place?  Duh!  They immediately take off to the back of the garden, far away from Mr Fox which is a good sign.  But – all morning, loudmouth has been shouting his head off.  Oh I could ring that neck of his.  I realise he is only doing his job, that it is his place to warn the others if anything untoward occurs, he is afterall top cock, having taken his natrual place in the pecking order, what with the other three being eaten.  I find myself leaping up every time he shouts.  I look out of the window thinking that Skinny is terrorising them as she quite often does, but when I see her, she is lying in her bed which she has taken outside into the sunshine as she does each morning.  She looks at me all innocently for she knows I am about to accuse her but this time she is not to blame.  It is clearly a case of the willies.  Loudmouth, having failed to protect his brood, is really overdoing it this morning.  I hear you loud and clear, you numbskull, pea brain.  Shut up, before I have a nervous breakdown!