Saturday, 28 May 2011
:)
Just finished candeling the poor neglected eggs and they are all fine :D The chicks are all moving around and seem to be having fun :)
:(
Last night in my over exuberant effort to raise the humidity in the incubator I placed a sizeable amount of water inside. I put it everywhere. As I was supposed to, I used warm water, but it appears it was not warm enough. My poor little baby chicks, who are now almost filling the eggs, spent the entire night getting cold.
This morning I have managed to raise the temperature and they were turned as per normal.
I have decided to candle them tonight, instead of tomorrow, and see if they are still moving. I will let you know the outcome.
This morning I have managed to raise the temperature and they were turned as per normal.
I have decided to candle them tonight, instead of tomorrow, and see if they are still moving. I will let you know the outcome.
Friday, 27 May 2011
The Amazing Vanishing Hen
Popping out to the back garden to check on the hens is something we do several times a day, because they have free reign of the entire back garden. On this occasion, though, something was amiss. Either I had forgotten how to count to five or there was a hen missing.
This started a mini panic session, what if a fox had gotten into the garden and taken her? She was the closest one to laying and she was my favourite because of her love of cuddles. She had to be found!
I shouted to The Chicken Hunter to get out and help me find her. Eyes welling (although I would never admit that in public), I began looking in the vast shrubbery that is our garden. Searching beneath and behind, looking not only for Red herself, but also for any sign that she had been got!
There was nothing. We probably had to extend the search into the woods at the bottom of the garden (if I was a chicken I would head that way).
First though I checked the front drive-way. If she had gone over the front fence, there was a good chance that she had become one of the many local dogs' dinner. Eyes still welling, I glanced around the front way and checked for signs of my beloved Red. Nothing. I left the drive and walked down the road a way, checking under the un-manicured hedge that lined the neighbours' fences, gently calling Red by name then falling silent in the hope of her answering me back. Nothing. I walked the other way, checking front gardens as I went and still nothing.
The Chicken Hunter had taken the initiative a gone, stick-in-hand, into the woods. On my down-hearted return to the garden he was returning, hen under one arm, through the back gate. Arms outstretched I ran towards him "Red!" I squealed with joy. It was like a scene from a bad romance novel, all it needed was a beach and lapping waves in the background.
Much to her disgust, Red found herself locked away in the run for the remainder of the day. I did not need another emotional rollercoaster if she decided to disappear again.
This started a mini panic session, what if a fox had gotten into the garden and taken her? She was the closest one to laying and she was my favourite because of her love of cuddles. She had to be found!
I shouted to The Chicken Hunter to get out and help me find her. Eyes welling (although I would never admit that in public), I began looking in the vast shrubbery that is our garden. Searching beneath and behind, looking not only for Red herself, but also for any sign that she had been got!
There was nothing. We probably had to extend the search into the woods at the bottom of the garden (if I was a chicken I would head that way).
 |
| The Amazing Vanishing Hen herself |
First though I checked the front drive-way. If she had gone over the front fence, there was a good chance that she had become one of the many local dogs' dinner. Eyes still welling, I glanced around the front way and checked for signs of my beloved Red. Nothing. I left the drive and walked down the road a way, checking under the un-manicured hedge that lined the neighbours' fences, gently calling Red by name then falling silent in the hope of her answering me back. Nothing. I walked the other way, checking front gardens as I went and still nothing.
The Chicken Hunter had taken the initiative a gone, stick-in-hand, into the woods. On my down-hearted return to the garden he was returning, hen under one arm, through the back gate. Arms outstretched I ran towards him "Red!" I squealed with joy. It was like a scene from a bad romance novel, all it needed was a beach and lapping waves in the background.
Much to her disgust, Red found herself locked away in the run for the remainder of the day. I did not need another emotional rollercoaster if she decided to disappear again.
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
Hold on ... we started in the middle. Let's go back to the beginning!
OK, to be honest, we didn't know we were going to have chickens in the garden. I was trying to talk the family into putting some hens in the woods, free range and seeing what happened. It was then suggested that we wired off a section of the garden that was really no good for anything and built a chicken run. We could use the old coop from when chickens had been kept a few years back.
This got me all excited and I thrust The Workman into building the run. He happily got the chainsaw to certain trees in the woods to use as posts and found chicken wire to fill the gaps between them. It took us a week to build the run and clean out, disinfect and paint the coop.
Then came the day. Off to get our hens. I had been searching all over the internet and decided on a breeder that I found on Poultry Pages. We popped the dog cage in the car and off we drove; on a mission. I had already put two brown hens by and The Workman was keen to find two different Hybrids as well as a cockerel.
Well, as we discovered earlier, The Workman does like to talk things over before making a decision. Personally, I think this is related to his habit of taking longer to think about doing something than it does to actually do it.
It was decided. Two brown hens (Rhode Island Red crossed with Rhode Island White), one Light Sussex cross and one Black Rock cross, all 16 week old. The cockerel would have to wait. The chap who, in my opinion, charged over the odds for his hens was chatty right up until the point that the cash was handed over. At this point he was suddenly very keen for us to leave, so we did.
So, chickens safely locked in the boot of the car and gently clucking their song of woe, we trundled home.
We parked the dog cage, containing the hens, in the middle of the lawn, opened the door, sat back and waited, and waited. Eventually one brave soul, left the cage very very slowly and started making her way to the sheltered area, otherwise known as Radio Shack. The others soon followed, not wanting to seem less brave than their slightly older leader.
They tentatively explored their chosen few square feet of garden and showed all signs of being chickens. They ate, they pooped and they jumped at every noise. A pigeon flew over the garden causing out right panic. Hens running everywhere, finally deciding to gather beneath the Yew bush which provided the obvious shelter from the mean nasty pigeon who had had plans to eat them all alive.
There were many pictures taken that day, all of which can be seen at the bottom of this page and it was decided that the Fat, bossy, greedy hen would be named after The Workman's mum. This was suggested by his dad and stuck. The others were to remain nameless.
Persuading the Formiddable Four to come out from the shelter of the Yew and make their way into the run was not the easiest of tasks. Arms outstretched making shooing motions did nothing but make thim huddle further under the Yew.
I came up with a plan. Move away and let them think we had forgotten about them, then when the moment was right (when they had finally come out from under the bush) we were to pounce and grab a bird each. This worked ... well almost. Three of us and four of them seemed to be far too much of an advantage to the hens. So we started again. The Workman grabbed one his dad grabbed two and I was left with the most troublesome of the lot, who I skilfully shooed down the garden, up the garden, across the garden and eventually into the run.
 |
| The coop before the roof was added |
 | ||
| The run - almost finished |
Then came the day. Off to get our hens. I had been searching all over the internet and decided on a breeder that I found on Poultry Pages. We popped the dog cage in the car and off we drove; on a mission. I had already put two brown hens by and The Workman was keen to find two different Hybrids as well as a cockerel.
Well, as we discovered earlier, The Workman does like to talk things over before making a decision. Personally, I think this is related to his habit of taking longer to think about doing something than it does to actually do it.
It was decided. Two brown hens (Rhode Island Red crossed with Rhode Island White), one Light Sussex cross and one Black Rock cross, all 16 week old. The cockerel would have to wait. The chap who, in my opinion, charged over the odds for his hens was chatty right up until the point that the cash was handed over. At this point he was suddenly very keen for us to leave, so we did.
So, chickens safely locked in the boot of the car and gently clucking their song of woe, we trundled home.
We parked the dog cage, containing the hens, in the middle of the lawn, opened the door, sat back and waited, and waited. Eventually one brave soul, left the cage very very slowly and started making her way to the sheltered area, otherwise known as Radio Shack. The others soon followed, not wanting to seem less brave than their slightly older leader.
They tentatively explored their chosen few square feet of garden and showed all signs of being chickens. They ate, they pooped and they jumped at every noise. A pigeon flew over the garden causing out right panic. Hens running everywhere, finally deciding to gather beneath the Yew bush which provided the obvious shelter from the mean nasty pigeon who had had plans to eat them all alive.
There were many pictures taken that day, all of which can be seen at the bottom of this page and it was decided that the Fat, bossy, greedy hen would be named after The Workman's mum. This was suggested by his dad and stuck. The others were to remain nameless.
Persuading the Formiddable Four to come out from the shelter of the Yew and make their way into the run was not the easiest of tasks. Arms outstretched making shooing motions did nothing but make thim huddle further under the Yew.
I came up with a plan. Move away and let them think we had forgotten about them, then when the moment was right (when they had finally come out from under the bush) we were to pounce and grab a bird each. This worked ... well almost. Three of us and four of them seemed to be far too much of an advantage to the hens. So we started again. The Workman grabbed one his dad grabbed two and I was left with the most troublesome of the lot, who I skilfully shooed down the garden, up the garden, across the garden and eventually into the run.
 |
| The Formiddable Four sneaking into the Radio Shack |
Day 2 the incubator set-up :/
As I said earlier thermometers are ten a penny, or so you would think. This mis-conception led to miles being driven, fuel being burned and arguements being irationally fought. Nowhere seems to stock thermometers - unless you have like £30 to spend, well I was not willing to spend that amount!
Well after a day of driving round here and there for this vital piece of incubation equipment, we conceeded to the fact we would have to look at other methods and so switched on the PC and entered the name of that oh so well known aucion site into the search box. I had given up on the high street, the garden centres, the supermarkets and the retail parks of the local area. They were useless. I typed in the search criteria : thermometer and by the miricle of the chicken god there were thousands of results. I actually began jumping for joy - pathetic I know, but after the day I had had it was forgivable.
"Right," I screamed with joy "we'll have that one - it does humidity too" well, you can imagine the excitement in the room. I had found a wonderful tool that told you not only how hot it was but also how wet it was too! Wise Guy then piped up "that's in Hong Kong, gonna take four weeks to get here" hmmm, this was 7 days longer than my eggs incubation period so again we had hit a brick wall. All listings were either from the modern-day factory of Hong Kong or very, very expensive. It was a conspiricy! I raved this theory, much to the Wise Guy's amusement for many, many minutes and returned to it several times over the next few days!
So, for the immediate future we gave up on the idea of a thermometer. The incubator had a built in thermomstat, so it should be OK for a few days without, I cleverly summised and set to getting the state-of-art polystyrene fish box up and running.
Having read and re-read the instruction I knew exactly what I was doing and arranged the box like so: mat in the bottom (stops eggs slipping) and small pot of warm water with sponges in the corner. I ignored the bit about a thermometer being placed straight away to avoid ranting about the government/retailers/little green men being against chicken breeders.
I did, however, remember to connect the incubator to the adaptor before plugging it into the power, so the complete destruction of my new business was averted. When plugged in to the power supply the dramatic sound of the fan kicked into action and i hurridly moved the box until the noise was somewhat subdued.
While I awaited the proof that the thermostat was working I carefully marked all of the eggs with a O on one side and an X on the other. As I would be hand-turning theses little blighters I would need a point of reference, after all, I am easily confused.
"The thermomstat works", I shouted - rather obviously - over the restored silence of the small front room we inhabit. I proceeded to add the eggs on at a time X facing up. Now my work was done until day five when I got to see if any of the eggs had taken.
Well after a day of driving round here and there for this vital piece of incubation equipment, we conceeded to the fact we would have to look at other methods and so switched on the PC and entered the name of that oh so well known aucion site into the search box. I had given up on the high street, the garden centres, the supermarkets and the retail parks of the local area. They were useless. I typed in the search criteria : thermometer and by the miricle of the chicken god there were thousands of results. I actually began jumping for joy - pathetic I know, but after the day I had had it was forgivable.
"Right," I screamed with joy "we'll have that one - it does humidity too" well, you can imagine the excitement in the room. I had found a wonderful tool that told you not only how hot it was but also how wet it was too! Wise Guy then piped up "that's in Hong Kong, gonna take four weeks to get here" hmmm, this was 7 days longer than my eggs incubation period so again we had hit a brick wall. All listings were either from the modern-day factory of Hong Kong or very, very expensive. It was a conspiricy! I raved this theory, much to the Wise Guy's amusement for many, many minutes and returned to it several times over the next few days!
So, for the immediate future we gave up on the idea of a thermometer. The incubator had a built in thermomstat, so it should be OK for a few days without, I cleverly summised and set to getting the state-of-art polystyrene fish box up and running.
 |
| The 'state-of-art' incubator. |
Having read and re-read the instruction I knew exactly what I was doing and arranged the box like so: mat in the bottom (stops eggs slipping) and small pot of warm water with sponges in the corner. I ignored the bit about a thermometer being placed straight away to avoid ranting about the government/retailers/little green men being against chicken breeders.
I did, however, remember to connect the incubator to the adaptor before plugging it into the power, so the complete destruction of my new business was averted. When plugged in to the power supply the dramatic sound of the fan kicked into action and i hurridly moved the box until the noise was somewhat subdued.
While I awaited the proof that the thermostat was working I carefully marked all of the eggs with a O on one side and an X on the other. As I would be hand-turning theses little blighters I would need a point of reference, after all, I am easily confused.
"The thermomstat works", I shouted - rather obviously - over the restored silence of the small front room we inhabit. I proceeded to add the eggs on at a time X facing up. Now my work was done until day five when I got to see if any of the eggs had taken.
 |
| The eggs in place (the thermometer was found 2 days later in a well known DIY store) |
Day one, simples.....?
Well today was the day that my incubator arrived, so off I went to get my eggs. Easy enough, I had phoned in advance and asked for a mix of 12 Poland eggs. Having found the little hide-away garden centre that was keeping my eggs nice and warm for me, I had a wonder and a "awww, 'int they cute" at the baby chicks and "can't we just take them home instead of the eggs?????" This was shortly followed by a 'talk' about getting an incubator and costs involved etc...
So I went to the till, money in hand and told the lovely lady that I was there to collect my eggs. Cash handed over, my first job was done. I had a few days before they needed to be heated, which would be plenty of time to find a thermometer, after all they are ten a penny. Anyway, pulling out of the parking space, some neighbour hating, mystical force cast some sort of spell over the driver, who turned to me and said "Shall we see if they have a cockerel?" Ohhh, the neighbours are going to like this, I thought to myself, but agreed in principle.
Off we trotted back to the till and asked if they had any cockerels, this was obviously a much more difficult question than we had thought, as the wonderful lady who had been so helpful before did not have a clue, it was as if we had spoken a completely alien language. Off she popped to find out what this strange person at the front of her garden centre was talking about --- she had gone to get the 'BIG GUNS'.
Well, the chap that came out was not as confused as the woman had been. He said that they had a few cockerels and that we had confused them, because no-one ever wanted one – wonder why???
Anyhoo, he took us straight to a beautiful, but seemingly bored Poland cockerel. This poor boy was pacing up and down and round and round his cage which really was on the small side. “Had to separate him from the others ‘cos he was getting a bit frisky.” We nodded in the hope it was a knowing nod. “Normally I sell cockerels for a fiver, but he's twenty - 'cos he's so rare” Well I was willing to pay it and take him home and introduce him to the girls, but alas this was not to be…
“I really wanted a proper cockerel, something like that one there” my normally quiet driver piped up while pointing to a Legbar cock bird at the far end of the field. He did not have any of those, but he did have a Russian Orloff that we could have for a fiver. This bird was not quite as pretty as the Poland had been, but he was still a rather good looking chap. The driver seemed pleased. Then they started talking about cockerels and someone mentioned Rhode Island Red (If I am honest I had switched off at this point). Well, this lead to driver getting very, very excited and saying yup, he would have one of them.
I switched back on again when we got to the Rhode enclosure, they were so small and still tweeting like chicks. I saw a bird and fell in love with it. While the two men discussed the finer points of sexing young birds, I picked him out. He was the biggest by a small amount and the darkest and he had the biggest eyes. I promptly pointed him out to the men, who were still debating the best method of distinguishing a cockerel from a pullet and they agreed he was a good choice. So when he finally allowed himself to be caught, Sarge was boxed up, paid for and secured in the back of the car.
So I went to the till, money in hand and told the lovely lady that I was there to collect my eggs. Cash handed over, my first job was done. I had a few days before they needed to be heated, which would be plenty of time to find a thermometer, after all they are ten a penny. Anyway, pulling out of the parking space, some neighbour hating, mystical force cast some sort of spell over the driver, who turned to me and said "Shall we see if they have a cockerel?" Ohhh, the neighbours are going to like this, I thought to myself, but agreed in principle.
Off we trotted back to the till and asked if they had any cockerels, this was obviously a much more difficult question than we had thought, as the wonderful lady who had been so helpful before did not have a clue, it was as if we had spoken a completely alien language. Off she popped to find out what this strange person at the front of her garden centre was talking about --- she had gone to get the 'BIG GUNS'.
Well, the chap that came out was not as confused as the woman had been. He said that they had a few cockerels and that we had confused them, because no-one ever wanted one – wonder why???
Anyhoo, he took us straight to a beautiful, but seemingly bored Poland cockerel. This poor boy was pacing up and down and round and round his cage which really was on the small side. “Had to separate him from the others ‘cos he was getting a bit frisky.” We nodded in the hope it was a knowing nod. “Normally I sell cockerels for a fiver, but he's twenty - 'cos he's so rare” Well I was willing to pay it and take him home and introduce him to the girls, but alas this was not to be…
“I really wanted a proper cockerel, something like that one there” my normally quiet driver piped up while pointing to a Legbar cock bird at the far end of the field. He did not have any of those, but he did have a Russian Orloff that we could have for a fiver. This bird was not quite as pretty as the Poland had been, but he was still a rather good looking chap. The driver seemed pleased. Then they started talking about cockerels and someone mentioned Rhode Island Red (If I am honest I had switched off at this point). Well, this lead to driver getting very, very excited and saying yup, he would have one of them.
I switched back on again when we got to the Rhode enclosure, they were so small and still tweeting like chicks. I saw a bird and fell in love with it. While the two men discussed the finer points of sexing young birds, I picked him out. He was the biggest by a small amount and the darkest and he had the biggest eyes. I promptly pointed him out to the men, who were still debating the best method of distinguishing a cockerel from a pullet and they agreed he was a good choice. So when he finally allowed himself to be caught, Sarge was boxed up, paid for and secured in the back of the car.
 | |
| Our Sarge a few days after his arrival |
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