Finally, a smidgen of summer. I've the window of my old room in Kells thrown wide open and, apart from the usual lazy sounds of the season, I can hear a new sound, the continual low clucking of chickens. Late in their lives my parents have decided, like many people who've watched a Duncan Stewart show on RTE1, to move themselves a tiny increment along the Irish social mobility spectrum and become suburban hen owners.
The hens live in a pretty classy coop at the top of the garden which looks exactly like a miniature version of the shed (one of those standard brown lumber ones with a corrugated roof). They've a nice bit of space to move around in and they are sheltered by the garden's staggeringly massive leylandii trees. Originally they had five hens but this has since expanded to eight because one of them became broody and my mother, touched by the hen's baldy tummy and distraught behaviour, decided to put her sitting on live eggs a while back. These eggs hatched last week into three chicks I've christened Tiesto, Scooter and Moby.
The hens live in a pretty classy coop at the top of the garden which looks exactly like a miniature version of the shed (one of those standard brown lumber ones with a corrugated roof). They've a nice bit of space to move around in and they are sheltered by the garden's staggeringly massive leylandii trees. Originally they had five hens but this has since expanded to eight because one of them became broody and my mother, touched by the hen's baldy tummy and distraught behaviour, decided to put her sitting on live eggs a while back. These eggs hatched last week into three chicks I've christened Tiesto, Scooter and Moby.
Tiesto, Scooter and Moby just chillin'
It was pointed out to me on twitter that some or all of Tiesto, Scooter and Moby might in fact be female. I'm keeping the names Lisa Lashes, Lisa Lashes II and Lisa Lashes III in reserve just in case.
As with all animals (and many inanimate objects - I've heard him call a TV remote a "fucken bastard") my father has now completely antropomorphised the chickens and projected a plethora of human psychological failings onto them. He mostly thinks they are "eejits". When the broody one started clocking, she was an "eejit". When she first wouldn't sit on the live eggs and would bolt for the shed door, he'd say "look at the eejit trying to get away from eggs now". When she finally sat on the eggs, he laughed his head off and said "look at the eejit now, sitting on another hen's eggs". But if hens are "eejits", crows are "bastards".
Crows can steal hen eggs. Who knew? Certainly not me. When someone first told me about this, my initial response was an incredulous "like fuck they can". But it turns out you can never underestimate the crow - a quick google search of "crow stealing hen eggs" throws up some disturbing results including a video of a little jackdaw marching into a coop then marching out bold as brass with an egg twice the size of his head somehow held steady in his beak. That particular crow was Australian, but the behaviour is general it seems. My father called me up the garden a couple of weeks ago, where he stood contemplating what were clearly a couple of smashed chicken eggs on the ground outside the coop. "Maybe the pigeons threw them down from the trees", he said without much conviction. Notwithstanding the fact that pigeons don't have arms it was very doubtful that they could have laid eggs that big. You'd fit about ten pigeon eggs in a hen egg.
Someone suggested covering the coop area in VHS tape to scare off the crows. We did this for a couple of days but my mother couldn't cope with the unsightliness. The place looked demented, hens running around behind a tangled chaos of shiny black tape whipping about like a web of madness. So we are looking for a plan B. Putting a life sized scarecrow is my preferred method of dealing with the problem. Something real mean and creepy, perhaps created from a disused boutique mannequin? I'd have some fun with that.
As with all animals (and many inanimate objects - I've heard him call a TV remote a "fucken bastard") my father has now completely antropomorphised the chickens and projected a plethora of human psychological failings onto them. He mostly thinks they are "eejits". When the broody one started clocking, she was an "eejit". When she first wouldn't sit on the live eggs and would bolt for the shed door, he'd say "look at the eejit trying to get away from eggs now". When she finally sat on the eggs, he laughed his head off and said "look at the eejit now, sitting on another hen's eggs". But if hens are "eejits", crows are "bastards".
Crows can steal hen eggs. Who knew? Certainly not me. When someone first told me about this, my initial response was an incredulous "like fuck they can". But it turns out you can never underestimate the crow - a quick google search of "crow stealing hen eggs" throws up some disturbing results including a video of a little jackdaw marching into a coop then marching out bold as brass with an egg twice the size of his head somehow held steady in his beak. That particular crow was Australian, but the behaviour is general it seems. My father called me up the garden a couple of weeks ago, where he stood contemplating what were clearly a couple of smashed chicken eggs on the ground outside the coop. "Maybe the pigeons threw them down from the trees", he said without much conviction. Notwithstanding the fact that pigeons don't have arms it was very doubtful that they could have laid eggs that big. You'd fit about ten pigeon eggs in a hen egg.
Someone suggested covering the coop area in VHS tape to scare off the crows. We did this for a couple of days but my mother couldn't cope with the unsightliness. The place looked demented, hens running around behind a tangled chaos of shiny black tape whipping about like a web of madness. So we are looking for a plan B. Putting a life sized scarecrow is my preferred method of dealing with the problem. Something real mean and creepy, perhaps created from a disused boutique mannequin? I'd have some fun with that.
The eggs are fantastic by the way, golden yolked perfection. The white is so firm that they make the most wonderfully complete poached eggs without any messing around with whisks or vinegar. If you know me in real life don't be afraid to ask for a few.
MP3: The Orb-Little Fluffy Clouds
(the sky outside is full of little fluffy clouds so I'm off to make the most of the lovely day).
2 comments:
Your dad surely deserves a post dedication? Nothing like a fresh egg, you'll never go back to shop bought now. The foxes tend to find a way into most of the gardens around here. My friend had to tell her 4 year old daughter that a fox had taken the rabbit to live in the woods with him recently!
I have a song for Scooter:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRUfivx-NC4&feature=youtube_gdata_player
Haha, he might get a bit more recognition here alright. But once he was in the pub and people started asking him about my blog which really freaked him out.
I LOVE that Modeselektor. In fact, I was playing them all last night out of excitment that they've announced a new Moderat album.
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