COUNTRY DIARY:

feisty bantam meets motherless chick

The neighbour arrived one evening as it was growing dark, with a black chicken in a box and eight eggs.

“I found her in my bushes sitting on these eggs and she won’t last long with my dogs, so I thought you might like to put her in your hen house.”

We took her gratefully and popped her in our nursery, which is a fencedoff area in the hen house with a waterproof nesting box made of a plastic bin upturned over an old boogie board. Paul gave her food and water and left her to it.

“She was starving,” he said. “But she’s settled back on the eggs.”

I was post-knee-replacement operation, so Paul was feeding and watering the hens up the hill, and it wasn’t until a few weeks later I got a good look at her.

“That is not our hen,” I exclaimed to Paul. “She’s got a top knot and I’m pretty sure she’s a bantam.”

She was feisty wee thing, running to and fro getting food and fighting off the other hens, who were well aware she wasn’t from their flock and were bullying her. I called her Top Knot.

We hadn’t realised we had one extra bird, because she’s black like a lot of our hens, and we’ve lost count as they have gone into a mad breeding frenzy. A hen will disappear and then re-emerge three weeks later with babies. Just like that. One day we might have 26, other days only 20. Most of them are laying eggs in nests I have yet to find, all around the property. At any given time we are not quite sure where all our hens are or what they are up to.

After Top Knot had been sitting for over three weeks, we realised her eggs were probably unfertilised and weren’t going to hatch. At the same time, Lydia turned up, after a long absence, with five little babies, which surprised and delighted us. Then we heard another baby chirping urgently from behind the hen house.

“She’s left one behind,” I said to Paul, so he climbed over flax bushes and rocks to save it.

Little Trixie spent two nights under the brooder lamp while I hand-fed her. She wasn’t quite right. Maybe she hatched late, got stuck or didn’t get oxygen when she needed it, but I didn’t think she was going to make it on her own as a member of a busy flock. Which meant she would become a house hen, which is sweet, but ultimately very messy and annoying.

Then I had a brilliant idea. I took Top Knot’s eggs out and popped Trixie under her, then crossed my fingers, hoping Top Knot would adopt her.

Sure enough, in the morning Top Knot was mothering Trixie, giving her food and encouraging the chick to follow her around the nursery. Trixie was still pretty slow on her feet, but Top Knot seemed to have endless patience and love for our little orphan.

I indulged in a fantasy that Top Knot and Trixie would become inseparable, and her new mum would cater for whatever problems Trixie had. Trixie would lead a wonderful (if a little disabled) life as part of our flock.

Then one morning, Top Knot ran out for her food alone. I knew Trixie had died. And there she was in her nest. The night before she had been racing around, hale and hearty.

But I had learned one of the lessons people who live in the country know. Trust Mother Nature. Little Trixie was meant to be left behind and meant to die in her nest because something hadn’t quite worked in her make-up. We should have just let Nature take its course. But I like to think Trixie had a nice life for her two weeks, with plenty of food and cuddles from Top Knot.

Meanwhile Top Knot won’t leave the hen house. All the other birds can’t wait to be let out in the morning to free-range, but Top Knot comes out for some food and then goes back in. She could be looking for Trixie or perhaps, at her former home, she was kept locked up all day.

She’s part of our flock now, though, and I look forward to seeing her become a mum again soon.

“Top Knot seemed to have endless patience and love for our little orphan.”