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.

The coop before the roof was added

The run - almost finished

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 Formiddable Four sneaking into the Radio Shack