An April day in the life of…
Today has seen a distinct correlation between the state of my brain and that of the eggs my broodies are sitting on. Addled.
These particular eggs are under two of my soundest bantams. They would sit on bricks if it were possible for a brick to hatch. Never budge. A clutch of Cuckoo Maran eggs under one and a chocolate brown Orpingtons und the other.
Both clutches bought against expert opinion – husband John – and with my highest hopes off eBay. I am a sucker for a good advert. Show me a winning set of words and a cute picture of the goods and I am clicking away on that “place bid” icon like a fiend. In the cases of these eggs, I just wanted something for my broodies to sit. Our poultry are a plain lot and I fancied something a little different.
Marauding foxes are a risk at any time of year. Over winter they are especially hungry, it seems, and constant vigilance is required. Sadly not always successful. Luckily most of our hens who do not choose to go into the hen house at night, prefer to sleep in the apple trees, well out of a fox’s reach. Unless, as occasionally happens, they are nabbed on the ground as they descend at first light.
When the snow fell, it was enlightening to see how a fox/foxes had been circling the hen run looking for a way in, so there is no doubt that they are out there watching and waiting. One night of forgetting to drop the hatch on the hen house and close the gate and that would be it. But returning to those special, and on reflection, expensive eggs, they appear to have been duds. We tested the eggs in warm water to see if they were rocking, but all the eggs just floated. And then exploded when I threw them away.
There is hope of a hatch. While moving some hay bales this morning, John has found a little brown bantie whom I had seen around occasionally in the day but who had not gone back to the hen house at night. Mystery solved. She has a clutch of eggs in a haystack. A bit precarious but she seems very settled. I do not know how long she has been sitting and she has a very sharp peck when I felt under her to check the 11 warm little eggs.
So for once I am going to listen to John, not be seduced into buying anything different off eBay, and go with home-grown bantams. For the time being.
Bobbi Mothersdale, a Yorkshire farmers wife, spent a week with Shropshire Newspapers 25 years ago. The above is an extract from her book “Hens, Hooves, Woollies and Wellies” The Diary of a Farmer’s Wife, published by Old Pond Publishing.
