|Extended hen run with omlet netting.|
Well, as we've had nearly 600 page views yesterday, I'm assured whilst few comments land, someone [other than me and my mum] is reading, so here's yesterdays' installment of garden antics. Its very chicken focussed, as I've hardly anything left to chop down. So we extended the chicken run. I'd been thinking of letting them move into the next area for a while. But they are a tad impatient to get on with it.
So, yesterday, they, those pesky chooks, took over the second quarter of the veg patch. Quite spectacularly, in less than half an hour, they staged a break out. I fear it was actually planned that way, chickens are sneaky.
|Omlet* chicken netting, quick and easy to assemble.|
Dear hearts I fear, I was, however, a bit more than an accomplice to their chicken will. Persuasive things chickens. They made me buy them this, on the premise that I'm shockingly bad at instructions, I agreed. [It would never make it up, my skills with instructions are, lets say, limited.] However I gave it a go. They'll have less internet shopping privileges in future. Let me tell you.
|Omlet net laid out. It came with pretty red ribbons too. Aww.|
They even sent in 'Greta' to supervise. The instructions were not in Swedish, but she was very helpful nevertheless.
|Omlet fencing gate post.|
Of course they watched too, voyeurs these chooks are. Watching my every
calamity experiment in the garden. [NB other brands of mobile netting with suitable silly egg-tastic names are available too.] THEY thought this one was funny given how many eggs I've dropped/they've stood on.
They wanted to invade Tracey Island. Home to the thunder birds and various slugs. A rowan acts as HQ for the slug master 'Dr Slime'. Inbetween here and their 'old home' is the second quarter of the veg patch. So really, they told me, by linking them up to clear both, they'd be doing me a favour. Hard to actually argue with a chickens logic.
|Fun stuff for chooks to allow slugs to hide under. Cunning eh.|
They also asked for 'fun stuff' which I'm sure is code for climbing and escaping material. So I left them some logs and various things to 'climb and perch on'. I have to say ex-commercial farm rescue chickens seem to have many opinons. Maybe its the close quarters they lived in before, too much chat, not enough action.
They also demanded a chair, ropes and scissors. Now, we all know not to give hens scissors they get unbalanced using them. [Or rope, for obvious reasons, they do a lot of knitting, its just not suitable, but they never listen, although I've told them they might enjoy macrame.] I gave in and left the old chair. I'm sure they'll be using it soon for an escape launch pad.
Then they demanded a drink, don't be surprised to hear Scots hens don't drink just water. They're gin lovers** pure and simple. Given how enraged they get without any, I gave in. Of course they don't drink whisky, that's for dragons and ducks.
By the time I'd got it up and finished due to FAR TOO EASY instructions. [Curses]. Haggis turned up to see how easy it was to get at the chooks grub (and gin, he loves gin). Not easy at all if its put up right and thanks to stupidly easy instructions, it was up in less than 15 minutes. Blast.
|Happy lasses in their new extended run.|
They seem pretty pleased with themselves. Tracey Island invaded. So they demanded an audience with the master, Dr Slime. I couldn't refuse. Seven hungry chickens can be very persuasive.
So that's the next phase of the chickens taking over the garden. They've cleared the first quarter of the veg patch in record time, scoffed a goodly amount of slugs, so it only seemed fair. Less grass to mow, more for them to eat.
Dr Slime's companions have been seen retreating to the Grey Shed looking for a Fushia to hide under.
Next time slugs, next time. [We will eradicate you in a kind and natural fashion, unless you leave the premises.]
Of course the hens were happy with their new home. They left me a present to say thanks on the roof peak. Cheers lasses.
|Egg production peaking? Who said chickens can't climb? Buggers the lot of them.|
|Scarlet, rescue hen, happily rehomed. Feathers returning day by day.|
**no hens were fed gin or cairns either in this household. Twas just a jest before you get me in bother. We all know they prefer tequila in the summer.