They were up and about and wanting letting out already. Well it's Sunday, so we have a relative lie-in (up before 8am), but they don't know that. So I'd taken a rinsed out 2ltr milk container of water along, and as my hands were cold as I sloshed the frozen water out, some drips splashed through my crocs onto my toes, nICE!...
The normal routine is to open the gate and walk to the hen-house, but at the moment they're in restricted quarters as a good portion of their patch is mud. So I have to scissor-step over the fence - which is OK so long as I'm not wearing a skirt... Luckily there's only one set of neighbours who I might offend this way, so not too much risk involved...
I currently have three hens. Two of them are speckledy grey (marrons, one gets quite broody which is a pain), both 2.5 yrs old, and the other is a red hybrid and is 3.5 yrs old. I'm watching her at the moment as she's quite light from the winter and probably won't last the summer. When I get down to two hens I'll invest in two more. Four is actually too many for our needs, but the sellers won't let you take one hen alone to introduce to your flock - it's not called hen pecking for nothing. So that's the way it goes.
I despatch them myself when the time comes. Did you realise you were reading the blog of an experienced hen-killer? When I say experienced I've only had to help three on their way. The hens aren't pets. They're livestock. Let's get that straight. We don't pet them, and they live outside. They do have names, Tweedledum, Tweedledee and Atilla. I love that joke. Atilla the Hen - she's the bossy red one.
Because they're livestock I feel responsible that when the time comes (usually from problems with their back end) that I'm the one to take the action. It's not easy. I don't cry, but even though I know it's the right thing to do, when the time comes I will prevaricate as much as I can before the necessary has to be done.
I can't wring a chicken's neck. I've tried. I've not got the technique and definitely not got the patience, nor enough livestock, to practice... All that happens is they untwist their exceedingly long and stretchy neck, and look at me over their shoulder with a quizzical expression (if that's how a hen can look) as if to say "what on e-e-a-a-r-r-t-t-h-h do you think you're doing???". No anger, just puzzlement. Not good.
My technique involves a broom handle over the back of the neck, feet (mine) wedged either side and a sharp tug on the feet (of the hen).... although I've heard that in Romania they spin the chicken around a few times to make it dizzy and then put its head on a block and wallop. I've also spoken to someone who knows the hen needs to be despatched, but being unable to do it themselves (for whatever reason) takes it to a remote field where certain birds of prey are known to hunt, and leaves nature to its way.
I prefer to think that my way is more personal and therefore more honourable.
Not eating meat ourselves I dispose of the body in the refuse/garbage - I did check with the man at the tip once, when disposing of the three chicken carcasses the fox had left behind that time, and was assured it was OK. If we ate meat I'd rear the appropriate breeds, but layers, once their time comes, usually have something wrong with them, and I'm not sure they'd be fit for consumption...
They do lay excellent eggs. Although they go off lay in winter/particular cold snaps/annual moult. I couldn't believe when I last bought some eggs from the supermarket that the size was so small and cost so high.
There's a certain joy in freshly laid eggs, an actual warmth, the weight of it in your hand, smooth and curved to fit exactly right, the variation of the shell colour..... You can tell if your birds are 'off' by the shell condition, and then you keep a beedy eye to which hen isn't happy in itself, catch it, inspect it, and, if necessary isolate and give tlc to patch it up and then reintroduce to its friends.
There's pleasure in watching your birds. Getting to know their personalities, how they interact with each other, the sounds they make, all fascinating. I'm happiest sitting at the end of the garden, having done the vegetable patch, with a cup of tea, just me and the girls for a 10 minute break. Bird-watching. Brilliant.
Time for bed y'all. G'night John-boy, g'night Gram'ma... ah me, bring back The Waltons!
Keep it sweet x x Kat :)
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