I’m facing a chicken and egg dilemma

I HAVE been outwitted by bird brains over recent days.

My three chickens enjoy free-ranging so much in the garden that I have little idea where they lay their eggs.

I decided it was back to base for a week to remind them of the comforts of straw-filled hen house cubicles.

I have kept chickens in the past that were nervy, but this trio, of the warren breed, are excellent company and fantastic layers. Whenever I open the back door they come sprinting up the garden like little velociraptors to pester for food – though are actually far more interested in grazing the lawn and scratching up the flowerbeds.

At first they were kept in a decent sized run that I built around the hen house. When that got muddy I created fenced extensions. But they soon messed up these sections, scraping at any tear in the carpet of grass until it became pockmarked with muddy holes.

I finally let them have the run of the entire garden, sacrificing neatness in the hope they would spare the lawn. At first they were impeccably behaved, hanging around the patio in the sun and returning to the hen house to lay.

But then, for some reason, hidden nooks and crannies deep within thorny hedges battered by the rain became their places of choice. And without watching them all morning, I lost track of favoured spots, and could only manage to find one or two of their daily eggs.

As Storm Alex brought miserable weather I decided to get them back into the hen house run, where hopefully they would lay in the dry.

They soon figured out that by climbing onto the roof they could fly over the fencing. Despite having the tips of their flight feathers trimmed on one side, a harmless process, they still managed to get airborne, and every now and then I would look out of the rear window to see one proudly clucking around on the patio or diving into a hedge to lay in some secret hideaway.

Rushing outside I would bring it back to the enclosure, only to be back out chasing one down again an hour later.

I put chicken wire on the top of the hen house, but that didn’t trouble them. They soon figure out a way around it.

Finally I secured a tarpaulin over the area of the run that seemed to be the weakest link, and not only did it shelter them through the worst of the recent rain, but seems to have temporarily bamboozled them.

They will earn their freedom once again as soon as they are back into the habit of laying in their hen house. I’m certain this will work. Though, what’s that expression about counting your chickens...?