In the beginning there were….hens

Several years ago now we decided to take the plunge into producing our own eggs, I first bought two hens plus a small coop and all the things required to look after them for Jim for his birthday, one problem though, I had a massive bird phobia! It soon became apparent though if I didn’t try and overcome my phobia, the eggs wouldn’t get collected and drinkers wouldn’t be filled or the feed topped up as Jim needed to leave very early for work and sometimes didn’t get home until dark when the hens were back in bed, that’s without letting them out at dawn and shutting in at night.

I discovered that chickens, on the whole are not flappers, flapping is what freaks me out. So slowly I collected eggs, filled drinkers and filled feeders, poo picked, let them out and and shut them in at night. I did everything EXCEPT touch them. Jim checked them periodically for mites or lice, everything was going fine.

We found out by research that we would need to worm them, about twice a year. Luckily you can buy layers pellets with wormer in so that was easy and even better we didn’t need to withdraw from eating the eggs!
So Margot and Gerry our first two bluebell hens, recommended as a good docile breed for first timers, settled in and life was good, we enjoyed amazing eggs and it seemed this was a good plan. Until one day sadly Gerry died, after about nine months, we just found her sleeping in her nesting box but actually she had passed away.

We were really sad but knew we hadn’t done anything wrong, Jim always says ” if you have livestock then you have deadstock” something that has stayed with me since.
We didn’t want Margo to be alone so we got two more Bluebells, this way if one died then two left would be together.

The three lived happily together providing us with lots of lovely eggs which we soon realised we couldn’t get through by ourselves, so we began to box sell the spares to family and friends this way the girls helped to pay towards their keep.

Soon three became four as Jim’s sister, who had been left with a single hen when one from her pair passed away, decided we should have her with ours. I came home one winters eve to find a lovely brown chicken in the coop with our three blue bells….cheeky!

• 

• 

• 

• 

Beryl, the little brown hen was half the size of our huge silvery blue ones and super friendly and we were soon to discover regular little brown hybrid hens are very docile and forgiving Beryl gave me more confidence and I found I could pick her up and cuddle her, something I never could of imagined before. Because of my new found confidence I felt we had masses of space and if we had a bigger coop we could have a few more…… beware chickens do this to you.

I had been seeing a lot of British Hen Welfare posts where poor intensively farmed hens were rehomed after giving their all to the egg industry and then being destined to the soup factory having never felt the grass under their feet, seen a blue sky or bathed in the warm sun! It broke my heart, you can see where this is going cant you!?

• 

• 

• 

• 

“We could have a few rescue hens” I said

“I think 4 is enough ” Jim said.. “but look at them” I showed him a picture on my phone

“They are all bald and pale and we could give them a really good home and they could have a really happy life.”

“The coop’s not big enough”

“I’ll buy a bigger one”, “they’ll need to be quarantined in case of disease, they can live in bigger new coop until we know they are okay, then mingle them”

“How many are you thinking?”

“Two or four maybe (hes weakening I can feel it)”

“Okay I’ll think about it”

That’s a YES as far as I’m Concerned!!

So I signed up to British Hen Welfare Trust and they let me know that there was a rehoming weekend in about a month in Newark. Exciting preparations began, new bigger coop ordered more drinkers and feeders, remember I’m the girl with the bird phobia and didn’t want hens. My new girls would be here soon for their new happy life.

The month passed and my friend and I set off to collect two, no four definitely four, I could manage that easily, the coop was more than big enough…..that means I would have eight…..yes yes eight is fine, I have four already I might as well have eight!!!!!!

We arrived with our box to collect four, remember that four!!! I gave my name and the lady ticked me off the list, “come and have look” she said.” I looked at a sea of tiny bald little hens, pink and pale like forced rhubarb, claws all curled round like corkscrews huddling together confused and frightened. These forever giving birds were destined for the food chain having given everything they had and more, my heart was breaking.
” How many can you take” the lady said.

• 

“Eight” I blurted “I can take eight” tears streaming down my face!

They were only half the size of a regular chicken so eight halves equals four, chicken maths, it’s different to regular maths.

“I’ll pop one extra in ” she said “sadly sometimes the stress of the rescue and travelling is too much for them, so don’t be surprised if you lose a couple”

“Okay I said”. Hes going to kill me , remember four!!

So we all traveled home they were as quiet as mice in the box and when we arrived home some dedicated little trooper had laid an egg in the box! We unloaded them into their new coop and run and they had their first experience of grass, sun and sky. They huddled together for a bit before they started pecking bits of grass, instinct is a wonderful thing. Then Jim arrived home, I went to greet him and break the news, nine not four.
“How did it go” he said

“Well ” I said. ” the lady said some might die due to stress, so I got a couple more.”

“Oh” he said “you got six?”

“Sixish.”

By this time we had reached the new arrivals,

“Christ, look at them, poor little buggers” Jim said, he didn’t see numbers, but saw what I saw, tiny pink bodies enjoying their first taste of ‘life’…. nine was fine!

To be continued……….

O&J