3 Beaks

In April 2010 we entered the world of hen keeping.  We had thought for a while that eggs would enhance our home grown vegetables and the chicken manure would enrich the compost heap.  Then we visited some friends one evening and were finally convinced. When we saw their hens pottering around we realised that hens were simply THE garden accessory to have and by lunchtime the next day I had ordered an eglu and 3 hens from Omlet (http://www.omlet.co.uk/). They had everything we needed to get started.

dust bathing is soooooo good!

The Omlet eglu is fantastic.   It's compact, modern and very easy to clean. The delivery man was professional and ran through the basics. I had a migraine that day and my first experience of the girls was somewhat dulled by the medication. However, Ginger (a Gingernut Ranger) and the two white Sussex hens (Tweedledee and Tweedledum) settled in nicely at one end of the orchard.

Typically, we read the chicken instruction booklet afterwards.  For the first few pages, our hen bible gave the impression that the most taxing thing about hen keeping was to think of suitable names and as you can see, we didn’t spend much time on that task.   However as the chapters progressed I began to feel more uneasy, especially the paragraph on what to do about an egg bound hen....

The girls nervously stalked their run. We let them take tentative steps outside the run and were ready to tempt them back in with corn. However, at the first sound of a pigeon they ran for cover. They ate their food, drank their water and cheeped to each other sweetly.  Meanwhile we were waiting for our first egg, pushing each other out the way to become ‘a parent' first.   We waited for days and the waiting turned into weeks.  

Okay, where has the grass gone?

We consulted the handbook again. ‘A chicken changes shape when it is about to lay, it becomes wider of beam’. (Cue domestic tiff.) Doc was adamant that diagnosing widths of beams was not in his medical training but I was sure that since he had completed his obstetrics training, there must be some sort of connection.   Anyway, the momentous day arrived, so momentous in fact that I have forgotten when it was. There was one egg, one very tiny blotchy egg. “Is that it?” I squawled. "Is that all we get for investing our time and money?" I had expected no less than a golden egg, not a watery little mediocre egg.    Even a chocolate one would have been more promising.

Doc is more patient and suggested we 'see how things go'. He was right because in a short time, they were all laying 3 decent eggs a day.   At first we loved the novelty of omelettes and scrambled eggs made with our own produce. However, becoming egg bound was more of a problem for us than the hens and soon there were several variations of omelettes - from Spanish to Frittata, from Arnold Bennet to sweet soufflé. We still scrambled the odd dozen or so but rang the changes with poached eggs and meringues, even our own mayonnaise. Lemon curd was too yummy for our own good, likewise the Creme Brulee. We decided to give some of our eggs away before Springfield became too gassy for comfort and out of bounds for visitors. Our friends and family really appreciate their occasional eggy treats and when Tom, aged 10, from next door kindly looks after the hens for us, I think they lay extra special ones for him.

We don't mind the snow

When you keep hens you soon forget cute images of hens pottering around the veg patch. Hens are destructive and can clear the ground of grass within a few weeks. We move their run from time to time and invested in a corral fence so they can free range within a range. They are moved periodically and Doc re-seeds the grass and fills in the holes (craters) they have made.  Thank goodness for Bliss which is chopped and treated rape straw equine bedding that has high absorbency, is dust free and easy to handle. I put a pile in the chicken run and the hens throw it around.  I rake it out every so often and once of twice have found an egg!

Can we come out to play, please?

The girls have enhanced our married life.   For a couple married for 3 decades +, conversation can all but run out. But now we text and email each other regularly, enjoy a chat over a glass of wine and all because of the girls and the Daily Egg Report (DER).   Email to Doc: Please can you collect your glasses from the optician. Two eggs today and its only 9.30 am. One plain brown (2 1/4 ozs), one speckled (2 3/8 ozs)...'. Once, we found a white egg (shock, horror) and this required research and a Special Report. I spent an hour on the internet (also checking out a blouse at M & S at the same time) to find out the cause. Bronchitis. Stress. Lack of greens. Too many greens. The breed. The weather. Too much information. However I was pleased to report to Doc the next day that 'Egg status returned to normal. JOTT'. (Just One of Those Things.)

Hens need investment in time and money.  They need cleaning, worming, feeding and security can cause worry.  Do we regret bringing them into our family?  Not for a single moment.  We love them!

The one that got away....

And the eggs are such a bonus to having the girls around.  We know the provenance of our eggs and we enjoy them all the more because of this.  One day when I trying to find the answer to another baffling problem (why do we occasionally get eggs as rough as sandpaper?) I found this poem by Pam Ayres.  It reminds us why we keep chickens:

Oh, I am a battery hen,
On me back there's not a germ,
I never scratched a farmyard,
And I never pecked a worm,
I never had the sunshine,
To warm me feathers through,
Eggs I lay. Every day.
For the likes of you.

When you has them scrambled,
Piled up on your plate,
It's me what you should thank for that,
I never lays them late,
I always lays them reg'lar,
I always lays them right,
I never lays them brown,
I always lays them white.

But it's no life, for a battery hen,
In me box I'm sat,
A funnel stuck out from the side,
Me pellets comes down that,
I gets a squirt of water,
Every half a day,
Watchin' with me beady eye,
Me eggs, roll away.

I lays them in a funnel,
Strategically placed,
So that I don't kick 'em,
And let them go to waste,
They rolls off down the tubing,
And up the gangway quick,
Sometimes I gets to thinkin'
"That could have been a chick!"

I might have been a farmyard hen,
Scratchin' in the sun,
There might have been a crowd of chicks,
After me to run,
There might have been a cockerel fine,
To pay us his respects,
Instead of sittin' here,
Till someone comes and wrings our necks.

I see the Time and Motion clock,
Is sayin' nearly noon,
I 'spec me squirt of water,
Will come flyin' at me soon,
And then me spray of pellets,
Will nearly break me leg,
And I'll bite the wire nettin'
And lay one more bloody egg.

 Pam Ayres