Fabulous four are now three as Gertie the Great is sadly missing in action
Ialways knew that writing a chicken column would naturally have to include an inevitable death or two, however I was hoping it would happen a little bit further down the line. Tragically Gertie has been abducted and is believed killed in action, top of the suspect list is Mr Fox, although there are also buzzards and crows which might be capable of the dreaded deed. I feel guilty, that perhaps I was a little too complacent with the easing of flockdown. The girls had been getting along famously so I foolishly released the fabulous four for a bit of early morning bonding free ranging for earthworms on the lawn. I had popped inside to grab a cup of tea, heard a shriek and came back outside to discover Nancy and Clem hiding in the shed and a few feathers forlornly poking out of the wire attached to Cluckingham Palace. Aphrodite was cowering in a corner of the hen run, while Gertie was gone in 30 seconds.
Aphrodite got off lightly with a scratch on her toe, but despite extensive searches there was no sign of ‘Gertie the Great’, as she has posthumously become known.
My rescue chickens have had a bit of a hard life, so I know they won’t stick around for an excessively long time, and every day is precious. A less intensively reared fancy hen can live up to ten years. My main goal is to allow them to live a good life with me for the same period of time they lived in a caged environment. That means a year to 18 months, so a zen-like symmetry. I say though, you do get mightily attached to the little peckers, and she leaves a hen-sized hole in my heart, as well as amongst her flock mates.
The blow has been cushioned by the fact that I know her time with us in HQ was top flight. The gals want for nothing; the deepest, comfiest bed of shavings, they should really roost on perches at night time but my hens have never really taken to that. Security has been tightened, gadding about the garden early doors willynilly has been banned, and the girls are firmly locked up when we are out. I'm currently reviewing fox-proofing measures but there is a limit to how much you can do, without turning your back garden into a prison.
The sad reality is a hungry vixen will take an easy meal wherever she can. Just when I had recovered from the grief, another of my chickens took unwell and I thought that I was going to have to write about two sudden deaths. Touch wood, Clem has recovered, although I may rename her Lazarus, as she has already suffered from a touch of sour crop. However with the tragic demise of Gertie, there is a little more room in the hen house for a few more feathered pals.