Then a couple of weeks later, as 2010 went into 2011, Nik was cleaning our flock of eight hens out and he spotted another poorly bird. Another week of the very same treatment resulted in the very same outcome. And while the second patient was noticeably and visibly more distressed than the first, she seemed to recover well.



We thought we’d tracked down the problem. One hen in particular seemed to be pecking out beakfuls of feathers from her seven sisters, so we kept a closely-monitoring eye on the group and although still a matter of concern, once we’d put new wood chippings into the compound, the problem was less pronounced.

The reason why? We think they were alleviating boredom by pecking at each other; the new chippings gave them plenty of material to scratch and turn over. You only had to look at how much enjoyment they were getting from dustbathing once we’d turned the mud over to reveal dry earth, ready for the chippings to go down.

We thought all was well. We obviously thought too soon. Imagine our surprise when on Monday morning, I found Gabby (so-called because her left eye was smaller than the right one due to an encroaching eyelid) standing out on the chippings shivering, and puffed up just like Barbara was when she was poorly.

Recoiled into herself, Gabby showed little sign of wanting to do anything, and had not gone into the house the night before. We suspect now that it was due to a lack of energy, and although her rear end was a little, shall we say, messy, it showed no sign of a prolapse. So again, the cat kennel was called into service as a chicken isolation ward and we left the poorly hen for the afternoon.

After I’d been out doing the routine weekly cleaning of the compound in the afternoon, Gabby wasn’t looking well at all. Barely responding to my touch, her head was hanging low, she was hunkered down, puffed out, and hadn’t eaten a thing. With colour drained from her comb, face, and wattles, she was definitely slowly but surely dying.

We left her alone until the others had gone to bed, and then removed her gently empty sleeping carcass and, with nothing else to do, wrapped her in two bin bags and placed her gently into the refuse bin. Sudden yes, but probably all the better for it. She arrived last March with two more Rhode Rangers in our second batch of hens, and so sadly wasn’t even a year old when she died.

And, although it was only her misshapen and distorted eye and her honking noise (she never clucked and probably thought she was a goose) that endeared her to us, we were disappointed that it was her who happened to be the one who was chosen to go to the big henhouse in the sky. Silly, a chicken should be just a chicken after all, but some, occasionally, are a little more than that.

Or even two if you have them. Poor Gerry can’t even do that anymore. Her and Margot started the annual moult around two weeks ago that, unbelievably, chickens go through, too. Similar to the way that cats and dogs lose fur, the feathered moult consists of losing, well, feathers. And this year seems to be much worse for our two oldest birds. While some of the younger members of our eight-strong flock are doing the same, it’s to a lesser degree, and so fewer ginger feathers litter the floor of the coop.

But for Gerry and Margot it’s a different (and no doubt colder) story. Both of them look old, scraggy and lose feathers at the merest hint of movement. Gerry now has no feathers left at all at her tail end, so now waggles a pink, pimply stump. Margot looks bald around her face (she’s not, but appears to be), and both of them feel hard and almost scaly to the touch due to the small amount of feathers left of them and the tubes left from the missing ones. It could be worse, though; it’s not quite winter proper yet.

It’s chicken prison, or at least it was. Due to increasing demands on our egg supplies, we finally relented on 10 July and collected three more chickens from Hens4Homes. Rhode Island Rangers, the same as the most recent three we bought from Kirsty, they’ve not had an easy time settling in. We’re sure they’re even smaller than the last three additions to the coop, and with five old hens to make friends with, our new 17-week old girls have had a tough time of it.

Constantly pecked when they first arrived, they kept retreating to the new high perch that Nik had made for the coop the week before. High above the old chickens they were safe, not least because the elder chooks hadn’t really worked out what the tall perch was for. So, when that was taken away, the new girls jumped on the middle perch, again thinking they were away from any viscious beaks. Not so, as the more mature hens already used that branch to sit on, and no way were they giving that up.

So, drastic measures were called for. Raspberry netting in the middle of the chicken coop transformed the enclosure into chicken prison or a sort of Big Brother rich house, poor house arrangement. It was essential, though; it was the only way the new trio could get any respite. Putting the disused cat kennel in the corner of the new birds’ enclosure helped a little, too, as they could retreat from the hot daytime sun with no fear of older chicken reprisals.

But, it couldn’t last forever. With Margot, Gerry, Gabby and pals rebounding off the netting like space hoppers hitting a forcefield, it had to go. Beaks were getting tangled, chickens were squawking and the situation just wasn’t working as much as we’d hoped. We were also in danger of putting off the inevitable flock integration. But, since removing the netting, things have gotten worse, with the new birds spending most of their time in the Eglu or on the steps to the Eglu when we forcibly – and maybe cruelly – closed the door. But, it could be a case of being cruel to be kind.

Nursing our new three in the evening by closing all the older hens in with the exception of Gabby – she seems to at least want to make friends – so that they can eat and drink in peace and quiet seems to be helping them, although one of them does have a blue face, which we can only think is bruising from the pecking. It seems to be, with good reason, absolutely terrified, but simply has to fight back at some point. But, the week started on a positive note, as at least one of the new Rhodies has the guts to steal food from the older ones’ mouths, while all eight can stand in the same space now and not get too bothered. It’s a long way from perfect yet, but I think we just might have turned the corner.

Yes, I know she was only a chicken, but it’s sad nonetheless. Barbara, our white Sussex Ranger died on Friday morning in the coop, after we think, a short-ish illness. Apparently, all the signs were there (dirty back-end, pale-coloured comb), and the inevitable was, well, inevitable. I don’t think there’s much we could have done for her. We cleaned her up a few weeks ago, and thought we’d sorted out whatever the problem was, but obviously we hadn’t.

She went quietly, though, and looked much the same as she had done for the past few weeks, eyes closed and peacefully asleep. She’s been very quiet recently, seemingly spending most of the daylight hours asleep and resting away from our five other chickens, moving occasionally to peck at the scraps that were thrown in. On Friday, once she’d gone, I moved her to the greenhouse where she was collected by Vic (who was at the house with Andrew cutting a tree down), who disposed of her for us.

Gerry and Margot (who arrived with Barbara two years ago this coming August) seem fine, as do the newer three laying ladies. It’s strange not seeing a white bird in the coop, though. Barbara always let the world happen round her and whether the new arrivals stressed her out, we’ll never know. We do know that we’ve had five eggs a day for the past few weeks and we’re still getting the same number now; Barbara had obviously stopped laying some time ago.

That would explain the size, but the new girls’ combs are nowhere near sizable yet, while their legs are still more yellow than white (the brightness fades as maturity nears). They could just be older than we thought of course, but then should the eggs still be so small? if we were in any doubt, I opened the pop hole to the nest box to find one of the new Rhodies sitting on a very warm, small egg.

It was the right colour, too, so we might have our answer. Our older chickens all lay eggs or varying shades (Barbara lays white, Gerry lash flesh colour and Margot lays brown) and although these have differed in colour each day, why would they be suddenly laying smaller eggs? Yes, they have been down in count over the winter as we had expected them to be, but now that we’re back up to collecting a more sustainable number, why would they then shrink in size?

So many questions. We’ll definitely watch the situation, but yesterday morning, did I accidentally find our phantom egg-layer?

They’ve been here two weeks and already our three new Rhode Island Red chickens seem to have convinced our older trio of hens that they’re no threat. Okay, they’re still visibly very much two groups of three birds, but it’s a lot quieter than when they first went in, when the older ones didn’t like it at all. Responding with a flurry of squawks and pecks, you can see their point. It would be the same if three new unknown people came and lived in our house; we wouldn’t like it either.

But, despite reports and stories to the contrary, our six seem to be if not getting on, then doing a very good job ignoring or tolerating each other. Yes, there’s the odd peck at the food trough and we think the newer three are sleeping in the nesting box which can’t be helpful when laying time for the older three comes around (not to mention that all the shredded paper is on the floor of the outside enclosure), but overall, there’s a lot less volume than we expected quite this early on.

Mind you, Barbara, Gerry and Margot, the older three, didn’t really establish a pecking order until they started laying, so the worse may be yet to come. But for now, it’s days of the newer trio properly roosting on the small tree branches in the coop, while the older birds fuss around their feet. Bedtime got better, too, after about two days of them arriving. Gabrielle (above) finally realised she could go up the ladder to the house on her own, so there’s been no more scooping her up of the roof of the house and popping her in through the open door.

The only worrying event that’s happened is the laying of two very small eggs, which don’t appear to be from the older hens. Or if they are, someone can’t quite decided whether to go on strike (again) or to lay. But, as they’re half the size of the standard eggs we usually collect, we’re starting to question if one of the new girls is popping them out rather prematurely. That shouldn’t be possible, as they should still be seven weeks from laying. But, we wonder, is it a case of early days and early eggs?

Meet Gabrielle (she has a slightly not-quite-right bottom eyelid) one of our three new chickens. We said that we wouldn’t have a favourite, or even name the new additions to our flock, but she immediately pulled at our heart strings. We collected Gabrielle and her two ginger friends yesterday afternoon from Kirsty in Felstead (our older hens Barbara, Gerry and Margot all came from Hens4Homes, too), and although we rejected the three Black Rocks that had been put aside for collection, we’re glad we changed our minds and went for the more prolific egg layers.

Nik remembers there being Rhode Island Reds (or Rhode Rangers) on his grandparents’ farm when he was a small boy, and so it was always destined to be that we would get them at some point. Friendly, pretty, and seemingly good-natured, they seem to be the perfect choice. Giving them names and becoming attached to them wasn’t part of the plan (so we can be more ruthless when they stop laying) but, because we can tell them apart from one another, it was doomed to failure.

That they’re being picked on only adds to the bonding process. Our older three just don’t like the idea that they have a trio of interlopers in their midst, and are, quite rightly, defending their territory with a series of herding, pecking, and squawking. It’s got to happen, but it’s not fun to watch. We popped them in the Eglu Cube last night when our older three were asleep and they’ve had a tough day. That was telling tonight when we went to close them up; one was in the plastic house with her tail sticking out into the cold dark air, one was perched on the wheel underneath and poor old Gabrielle was sat on top of the Cube itself.

It would appear that they don’t like their older coop mates as much as Barbara, Gerry and Margot don’t like them. I don’t know how long the in-fighting will go on for, but a pecking order will have to be established. It might not be pretty and we’ll have to keep an eye on them at closing up time, but we can’t stop it – it is nature’s way after all.

This is a first. We’re currently in the grip of the second and arguably most significant snowfall of the winter here in Essex, and it would appear even the chickens don’t like it. They’ve seen snow before of course and usually hang about, walking about the coop. Gerry and Margot sometimes even play spot the Barbara, as being white, our Sussex Ranger easily blends in.

But not today. They’ve gone back up the coop ladder to ‘bed’, just as they do when dusk falls. The snow on the tarpaulin over the compound might make it darker and with it being so cold, I can’t say I blame them for trying to keep warm in their insulated Eglu Cube. Oscar’s doing the same; he’s curled up under the radiator in the spare bedroom, probably wishing the summer would come quickly so that he can be out all day.

It looks like this cold spell will last until the start of next week, so our laying ladies will have to get used to the sub-zero temperatures if they haven’t done so already. The cold and the darkness is more than likely what’s causing the declining egg count (down to 25 in December 2009 from 91 in the summer of the same year), but it could be worse. They could still be moulting and be really clucking freezing.

One thing about spending the day at home is that we can keep an occasional eye on the chickens. Our flock of three can be a constant source of amusement, amazement and distraction. They’ve all been going through some changes over the last few months, too. The annual moult started in earnest at the tail-end of the summer and although all our laying ladies have been going through it to some degree, Barbara and Margot have definitely suffered the most.

Both of them have lost handfuls (or wingfuls) of feathers – at times it looked like there’d been a chicken feather pillow fight in the coop – but they both seem to be over the worst of it now. Which is just as well. With plummeting temperatures, now is not the time to go featherless and bald. They need to grow them back fast, and although their heads are at last recovering (and they don’t look like old grey-haired ladies any more due to the grey colour of the feather shafts), they still have a way to go until they’re back to the glossy birds we remember.

One thing the moulting does is to affect the egg laying. The tally has been dropping steadily since September and the onset of autumn, but November saw a record low, with just 37 eggs collected from the bottom of the garden (compared to 91 in August). That’s barely enough for us, let alone parents and neighbours who watch them while we’re away. Once the annual moult has finished, normal service should be resumed, though. At the moment Gerry (above) is the hardest worker of the threesome and while she’s lost a few of her ginger-flecked feathers, she seems to be oblivious to the fact that it’s happening.

Our plans for getting more birds has fallen by the wayside somewhat and with Christmas almost upon us, it may not happen in the next couple of weeks either. We’re probably going to focus our efforts on more hybrid hens as opposed to rehoming battery birds, but even if we got them now, there’d still be no more eggs; they don’t start laying until at least 24 weeks old, arriving with new owners seven weeks before that. And, with six birds in total, we could have a problem. We may need even more vegetable scraps, as our three love them so much. It might also be a little harder to keep any on them all…

It took them a couple of days, but those feathered ladies now know what to make of it. We’ve wanted to put a new perch or set of perches into the enlarged compound for a while now; it’s just a case of sourcing the right materials.

Logs or thin tree trunks would be fine, although shiny broom handles might be a little too small in diameter. In all cases, it’s the job of attaching them to the compound frame or wire sides that could prove to be a logistical downfall.

So, at the weekend we changed around the current log configuration, and at once doubled the area on which our three birds can rest their legs and feet. The longer branch that was previously almost on the floor is now at least 30 cms off the ground, making for truly higher vistas.

Margot, stunt chicken, strikes a pose

Reluctant at first, they now quite like it, and strut up and down as if they’ve had their new climbing frame since day one. It’s not only the new perches that are giving them more stimulation either, as we’ve started to scatter premium bird seed in the bark chippings so that they can scratch and peck their days away.

In other chicken-related news, we’re still thinking of getting Barbara, Gerry, and Margot some new playmates, and they may be of the ex-battery variety. Arriving featherless and with one beak puts us off slightly, but we’re told they soon adapt and grow back their feathers. Quite the opposite of Margot then, who, through moulting, is still intent on losing a few of hers.