Occasional Scribbles

Two of the six remain

I woke this morning feeling low and depressed and wondering if I was coming down with a bug.  Later, seeing Skinny lying down right by the front door, head resting lightly on outstretched legs, eyebrows arched questioningly, I got the obvious hint and we set off for a walk.  As I turned the corner out of our garden, not more than five paces away, I spotted a little pile of black feathers.  With a rising sense of dread I looked a bit further and there in the middle of the lane was a tiny yellow beak and some more feathers.  There was no carcass to recognise, but I knew immediately that these were the remains of one of my little black hens.  Young Henny One or Two, (I wasn’t sure which as they are both identical). 

It is about a week or so since the fox came and took not one but three of my cock birds.  At the time, I was sad mainly because these ‘Daddies‘, had been so unexpectedly good at taking on the role of father to the Lit’lun whose mother had abandoned her. Each one must have thought he was the real Daddy but I knew it was one or other of the white ones and absolutely nothing to do with the dark black and gold one.   Apart from this delightful, paternal display, I was secretly relieved that the fox had eaten some of the lads as I was recently bemoaning the fact that the boys far outnumbered the girls and on the whole were pretty useless and apt to fight each other.  And who was I to begrudge a Vixen pinching the odd cock to feed her cubs? As I have never been able to ring their necks, (I can’t kill anything), she was in some ways doing me a good turn.  But to take one of my dear, sweet natured, friendly teeny little hens, that was another matter altogether.  Whilst I don’t mean harm to any animals, I rather thought one of the game keepers had shot the fox since she/he had not been back since the last murders took place.

As I looked at the pathetic remains of Young Henny, I fought the urge to turn back and check on the others.  Skinny had gone ahead and I caught site of her, hopefuly chasing two huge black crows that she had no chance whatsoever of catching.  There was nothing for it but to follow and I strode quickly down between the fields after her, feeling guilty that this would be a very short walk but resolving to take her again later.  I think she sort of understood as she made no protest when, about half way down the field I turned and headed back home. She skipped happily enough beside me for a while and then stretching her legs she raced through the corn, leaping and bouncing like a Kangaroo over the tall ears and eventually came out at the top near the house.  As we reached the spot where the feathers were, I noted that they had blown away in the wind and the beak was no where in site.  Perhaps cast aside by a car, or caught up in the wheels of one of the tractors that go by.

Going through the little gate into the back garden I went in search of the other chickens.  I found two cockrills in the shed, lying on the straw quietly, alongside the remaining Young Henny who is sitting on eggs. They seemed subdued but ok.  Further along I found the third cockril together with ‘Speckle’ hen and her adopted baby, Lit’lun in the greenhouse.  They were also subdued.  I wondered if they were worrying that in all likelihood they would be next on the fox’s menu but dismissed the thought.  Clearly they had forgotten that it was not safe to stray out of the garden and that the fox had ambushed the little black hen in exactly the same spot that he had before.  Short memories apparently.  Yet despite popular belief, they are not as dim as one might think.  I remember how sweet and kind one of the cockrills was when Old Henny was dying.  She remained for several days, glued to the perch, not even coming out for food.  And all that time, the cockrill stayed by her side until she dropped off the perch, stone dead.  He never left her, knowing she was dying.   

I felt guilty that I had not heeded my Mother’s advice to keep them all shut up.  I had decided against this as you can’t keep them in forever and I thought the boys might fight if kept in a confined space.  Now of course it is a positively luxury apartment what with there only being five and halfbirds left to share it.  I shall shut the door on them tonight and will not open it until the game keeper does his grim job.  My spirits have not been lifted today.  God Bless you little black hen.