COUNTRY DIARY:

With six more hens added to the Hokianga flock, fresh eggs for breakfast has become a reality – the trick is finding them first.

we’re going on an egg hunt

Where did we get up to on the great Hokianga hen count? Last time I wrote about my hens I think I had four, which I had picked up at the A&P show with much excitement. Well it turns out those “end of lay” hens, which were supposed to be 18 months old and still capable of churning out eggs every other day, are much older than that. Only one of them lays every second week and the others really should be in a hen rest home. As my Dad observed, watching them leave the hen house every day is like witnessing a bunch of old men stagger out of the RSA.

So one day I was buying eggs at a free-range farm in Ruawai on my way up north and I asked the lovely man who was helping me if he ever sold any of his hens.

“Yes, I do. How many do you want?” he replied. “There’s about a hundred over there which need to go – $5 each.”

So naturally I got six of them.

They were scrawny little things, in the process of moulting. They are brown shavers, just like the first three hens I ever got. And like those three they are full of personality. Their names are Bossy (self-explanatory), Lorraine (the most beautiful one, named after Lorraine Downes), Freckles (she has white spots around her neck), Gumboot (because she loves to peck at my Red Bands when I’m gardening), 50 ( because she’s 50/50 white and brown) and Wings (simply because her wings are all white). When I call them they come running and they follow me around the garden all day if they can.

Within a couple of weeks of being with us their new feathers glistened and they really loved to lay eggs – anywhere but the hen house. There are three nests around the property I know of and possibly more, which makes it a little problematic when needing a few eggs for breakfast.

Then I looked at our dog Flo, who loves nothing better than a tennis ball hunt. I sneakily plant 12 of them in the paddock then get her to “find the balls”. In less than 10 minutes she’ll sniff them out and drop them neatly at my feet. So I wondered if she would do the same with eggs. With a little help from animal behaviourist Jordan Coulson, who is a regular guest on my RadioLIVE show, I got Flo to associate an egg with the word “egg” and carefully hid some in the bush.

“Find egg!” I said in my “let’s have fun” voice.

She ran off and found a tennis ball. “Find egg!” I said again, having put the tennis ball with the other hundred in the store cupboard.

She set off with purpose and, to my absolute delight, stuck her nose in the bottom of a flax bush and wagged her tail furiously. Flo had found her first nest of eggs. Treats were given, eggs collected and we were all pretty pleased with ourselves.

The next day Flo came racing up to me in the garden and dropped an egg at my feet – breaking it.

The day after that I found her in the garden happily eating an egg.

And then the day after that she dropped one neatly into my hand without breaking it.

So now Flo and I have a regular date at the end of the day. We set off with treats in my pocket, our other dog Rosie following behind because when Flo gets a treat so does she, and we go on an egg hunt. I’ve lost count of the number of eggs she’s retrieved, including a quail’s egg, which I feel a bit bad about as our property hosts a family of wild quail whose babies often fall prey to the local hawk.

When we’re not egg hunting I have returned to my old habit of simply hanging out with my hens, which I used to do with my first hens. I can watch them scratch and peck for hours and find it most relaxing and calming. Even if they weren’t laying, those six $5 hens are the best and cheapest medicine I could have in my life.

“As my Dad observed, watching them leave the hen house every day is like witnessing a bunch of old men stagger out of the RSA.”