A DAY AT THE SPA

.. Wash 'n' Go

 My hens are normally a happy little bunch of chooks but the weather in the Borders has sorely tested their resolve these last few days. We have endured hailstones, snow, wind, rain and blizzards ... all of it and more in just one day and the sun just hasn't popped out at all. Naturally it's enough to drag anyone down in the dumps and more than a few ruffled feathers - literally - have been on display in the hen pen.
 Beryl and Ruby have looked particularly brassed off suffering what could be the poultry equivalent of SAD known as Seasonal Affective Disorder or the Winter Blues and so I decided to bring the girls inside for a pick-me-up. Although I lack the communication skills of Dr Doolittle,  it's very easy to see when a hen is out of sorts and Beryl and Ruby displayed classic symptoms of stooped heads, hunched shoulders and dirty bottoms.
 Out of all my Dumpys, these two take special pride in their appearance and spend hours grooming themsleves away from the rest of the flock. They usually sleep together on a high perch in the smallest hen house and rarely mix with the rest of the crew maintaining a rather aloof manner when wandering around the hen pen. The rest of the hens, with the exception of the cockerels, have a negative reaction to the pair ranging from mild disinterest to resentment to out and out hostility and it's been like that since Day One when they first arrived last Autumn from a farm in Halifax.
 Ruby was named after the colour of her stunning red comb which has become very pale over the winter months and Beryl was named after my Dandy comic hero Beryl the Peril after she knocked the stuffing out of poor Horatio on her first day in the pen.
 But back to the Spa Day - I have kept a video diary so you can see the special effects of what a nice shampoo and blow dry will do.

                                                    Stage 1 - Damsels in Distress .. 
As you can see the girls are showing signs of being SAD

Stage 2 - The bath time blues ..

The bath time blues leave this Beryl wondering if the spa day was such a good idea 

                                                   Stage 3 - WET, WET, WET ..

As mad as a wet hen. A good tonic? Ruby looks as though she's had a few gin 'n' tonics instead

                                                Stage 4 - Bring on the blow dryer ..

Still no sunshine but that hot air is most welcome; things are beginning to improve

                  

                                                Stage 5 - Alls well that ends well

Two happy hens emerge rested and relaxed from their spa day with shiny feathers and fluffy bottoms - anyone for a manicure or massage?

* A word of caution - I couldn't find any poultry shampoo so I used a very mild baby shampoo in warm water and stayed clear of the ears and head area. It took nearly three hours to blow dry them on a warm setting and don't get too close otherwise you could end up roasting your chicken! Don't try and get them bone dry, either and once you've finished let them dry thoroughly in a warm place for an hour or so before putting them outside otherwise they could catch cold or worse.

SQUIRREL ALERT

Arrival of Greys presents moral dilemma

A big, chunky grey squirrel was spotted in a tree near my home yesterday and today it reappeared in the favourite haunt of the very one used by the little red squirrel which has featured regularly in this blog. This 'grey' sighting is bad news and could mean the end of the tiny red colony here.

Going, going ... what do you think?

 Greys carry a virus called squirrel pox which is deadly to the reds - the arrival of today's grey can only be regarded as the opening salvo in a sectarian war in which just one group can emerge as victor.
 So now we have the moral dilemma ... do we let Nature take its course or do we humans intervene on behalf of the endangered Reds? Without intervention their Fate will be sealed but with it we could be accused of meddling with Nature.
 Of course there wouldn't be an issue today had not humans intervened in the first place since it was they who introduced the native American species in the 19th/20th centuries
 Any views out there?

BAA BAA BLACK SHEEP

...And one for the Master

Dark arts master: Machiavelli

He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is has begun to assert his authority in a way which would win the approval of the master of dark arts himself, Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli, pictured left.

 Friends say it was hardly surprising given that anything with a heartbeat on the smallholding is winged and feathered and treats my other half with the sort of contempt we usually reserve for bankers and traffic wardens. The hens show a mild disinterest while the turkeys give him a hostile reception and the geese see him as live bait.

 He did moot the idea of getting more sheep which produced a spot of hyperventilating from me and a negative response in the extreme which could only be translated one way: No, nie, nicht, la, 没有, non or, as the Welsh say, "dim". I think you get the message, which is more than he did because several days ago 

Double trouble: Zwartbles rams

two shaggy black sheep (right) appeared unannounced, grazing in one of the pastures and as regular followers of Soho2Silo know, I am not the biggest fan of sheep. And if you need reminding, best read this sorry tale again: http://soho2silo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/woolly-jumpers.html

 I'm not sure how to deal with this clear act of defiance and I may just let it go for the time being in the interests of maintaining harmony - losing this battle can be turned into a tactical defeat in my favour. We shall see, in the meantime it looks as though I've got two new additions. I haven't given the new arrivals names yet, although the larger one reminds me of a boy from school called Stormin' Norman. He goes charging down the field every morning when he sees my other half as though playing out some long lost reunion - it's the same script every morning, a bit like the movie Groundhog Day. I've warned it will all end in tears and enormous vet bills but hubby won't listen. At last, he has two fans on the farm who respect his authority and, unlike the feathered occupants, they genuinely seem to like him.

 Watch this space ..

THE THREE TENORS

But who rules the roost?

MOST hen pens have a cockerel who will control the birds and literally rule the roost. Well more by accident than design I somehow ended up with three of them when I began to collect the rare breed Scots Dumpys and while each displays quite different characteristics you can set your watch by them.

The Adhan - Islamic call to prayer

 In fact I was quite amused when scientists recently concluded that cockerels will instinctively crow at the same time every day regardless of whether they can see dawn breaking or not - this is great for me as a Muslim living in the Scottish Borders. Yes we are a bit of a rare breed too and with the nearest mosque being around 50 miles away, it is unlikely I will ever hear the call to prayer from Edinburgh. Plus most mosques in the UK are banned from allowing the call to be made unlike in most Muslim countries where a cacophony of calls to prayers known as The Adhan can reverberate across towns and cities.

 So thanks to my three cockerels I don't need to set my clock for the dawn prayer, known as Fajr which is the first of five daily prayers offered by practising Muslims. My 'three tenors' wake me up with their voluminous cock-a-doodle-doos every morning regardless of the weather.

Napoleon & Josephine

 But let's return to my feathered friends. As I say they are all quite different and the oldest is, I believe, Napoleon who came to me from Northampton with his soul mate Josephine. He was not the first rooster but he is, without doubt, the alpha male in the group and set about asserting his authority with all the hens on the day he arrived. Despite his duties as lead rooster, Napoleon and Josephine share the same cree every night and are inseparable on an evening.

 Napoleon is black and has a superb scarlet comb (the red bit on top of his head) and a magnificent pair of wattles (the two dangly bits below his chin). He often shakes his head and shows off his wattles and the whole performance is known as "tidbitting" and is designed to attract the other hens, which it does.

 This had a salutory effect on the light cuckoo-coloured rooster Horatio, hatched in a hen house in the Isle of Wight last June, who was ruler of the roost until Napoleon arrived. Poor Horatio has some catching up to do but I think the arrival of another, more senior rooster, has knocked his confidence.

 And just when he thought things couldn't get worse they did when Jumpin' Jack crashed onto the scene from leafy Cheshire. Despite being younger than Horatio he bounces around the pen on his long legs producing an annoying swagger. The perfect bred Scots Dumpy is supposed to have very short legs and a boat-like shape which almost causes it to waddle as it makes its way around, but JJ's long-legged defect doesn't seem to concern him at all.

 Not only does he spend his day ducking and diving out of the way of the other two roosters, it appears the majority of hens don't like him either and get quite aggressive when he comes a courting ... in the poultry world it's called treading! He's very pushy and has already had a downward effect on egg production because his unwanted and unwelcome attention has upset some of the hens.

 I am getting another coup built and I think that JJ will have to move out for a while to give the hens some breathing space.

 In the meantime here are my three roosters giving their best cock-a-doodle-doos for the camera - first up is JJ, followed by Horatio and last but not least Napoleon with a tidbitting demo as well. Which one do you think excels? And if you are a poultry expert any advice would be gratefully received in the interests of maintaining harmony among my chooks.

WARNING - GOOSE PATROL

..and watch out for the Old Bill

 REGARDLESS of where we live these days petty crime is about to increase as the coalition government's mean welfare cuts start to bite, so we should be on our guard when it comes to security in the troubled days ahead. I'm told there's already evidence of sheep rustling and petty thefts from farms in Northumberland to the Borders.
 And as a timely reminder I had a visit from the police the other day; actually it was a community copper who'd just taken up a new beat and wanted to introduce himself. Thankfully, being a country lad he was more than capable of reacting sensibly when confronted by the unexpected.

Jack the Bad

 So when Jack, my Toulouse gander, set about the uniformed officer almost pinning him against the vehicle he reacted with due care and attention ... unlike the goose who was using his old bill on the Old Bill with wreckless abandon!

Dawn Patrol

 Jack is only 18 months old and apart from a brief spell on a farm skirting the windswept Saddleworth Moors in the North West of England he's never experienced city life - had this been Haringey and not Hawick his goose would have been cooked. Tarred, feathered, tasered and shot at least half a dozen times in the head for his ambush, I reckon.
 However the officer reacted with cool, dignified calm like that ginger bloke out of CSI Miami and, using his strategically-placed hat to protect his assets, waited for back-up to arrive ie. ME! I dashed outside to see what was the racket. Unlike the hens who can whip up a storm of hysteria from nothing, when Jack kicks off I know there's something or someone in the vicinity. He's better than any burglar alarm although the incessant callers trying to flog me home insurance don't agree and refuse to give discount, which I think is unfair.
 "Have you got security installed and what sort," they politely enquire and when I reply: "Yes, I've got a raging mad gander and three geese" they just laugh. It's mildly irritating since I would trust geese over an alarm system any day; they don't deactivate, don't need a PIN number or conk out during a power cut or failure and they're incredibly loyal. And while most folk ignore the sound of someone's car or burglar alarm going off, when Jack starts it's enough to wake the dead.
  Every morning he and his lay-deees - Vera, Bluebell & Queenie - embark on their dawn patrol around the house before stopping off for a mixed corn breakfast around 8am. The girls usually go off for a wander leaving Jack on watch and he will guard my car 24/7 and launch a pre-emptive strike on anyone who happens by including he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is, as you can see in the video clip above. Hubby is now beginning to regret turning down my request for a couple of working dogs because Jack simply refuses to recognise his authority as man of the house. But while hubby and the postman have resorted to stealth to try and bypass the goose patrol others are not so lucky.
 Jack's favourite targets are van drivers especially the couriers who need a signature, the supermarket delivery man and the coal man. He usually sits idly on the lawn waiting for them to get to the point of no return and then strikes without fear like a spider with a fly. And there's no gender discrimination - he'll have a go at anyone regardless if it's a man, woman or child.
 And occasionally innocent passersby exercising the Scottish right to roam will suddenly accelerate into a 100 metre sprint from a gentle country stroll when encountering my Jack. The 'right to roam' as it is known colloquially was cemented by the Land Reform Act of 2003 which allows everyone the right to access land and inland water across Scotland acting as long as they act in a responsible manner.

 Now while you've seen Jack and the girls raising a racket this little clip on the right reveals his true character ... a good and loyal friend who I can rely on totally.
 Also on the plus side I have a beautifully manicured lawn which he and the other geese keep trim on a daily basis.
 On the downside, yep, you've guessed it. Geese are neither tidy nor toilet trained when it comes to pooping. And the consistency and frequency of their dollops makes a poop scoop impractical.
 But hubby armed with his high-powered jet hose can make quick work of their unsightly deposits although he complains bitterly under his breath. I can honestly say if you are living in the countryside or have large grounds and are thinking about getting guard dogs invest in some geese, instead. They're easy maintenance, incredibly loyal and will keep your lawn beautifully maintained.
 *Jack and Vera are Toulouse geese which is a domesticated breed that originated from France and were brought to England in the 16th century. They don't need a pond but they do love playing around in water. They prefer to stay close to home and so don't generally wander off. Bluebell and Queenie are from an endangered Swedish species called Öland geese and are generally quite placid as well.

SQUIRREL-PROOF BIRD FEEDER

or ... the Great Escape

AS REGULARS of this blog know I am a writer and not a photographer or camera operator, so apologies in advance for the quality of the production you are about to see. The source of amusement was provided by the little red squirrel who has caused so much joy since he first made an appearance.

These last few days he has been very preoccupied by a squirrel-proof bird feeder and, more importantly, the tasty stash of peanuts inside. Performing a number of breath-taking acrobatic tricks the prize has eluded him ... until today when he performed a feat emulating the great escapologist Harry Houdini, pictured right. Amazingly he got inside the feeder by squeezing his frame through the cage. I missed that trick but grabbed my camera phone when I spotted him behind bars tucking in to the well-earned prize. 

The footage below is a tad shakey but I'm sure you can see the red flash and white bib as our ginger star makes good his escape. So in honour of the great Houdini, I give you Harry ... or even Harriet!

SILO SNIPPET

Red Squirrels ... at the double

All in red: No longer solo

 EXCITING news on the squirrel front, it looks as though the little red critter I snapped (right) earlier this month now has a mate. He/she is much more elusive but I will try my best over the coming days to get the pair together as proof I'm not seeing double.
 The last thing I want now is the return of the grey squirrels that carry a pox virus which is deadly to their red counterparts.
 Without the Red Squirrel Survival Trust, a charity designed to ensure the conservation and protection of these animals, these entertaining little mammals would've been extinct by now.
 If you want to find out more about the fascinating work of the Trust check out their website: http://rsst.org.uk/about-us/

Scots Dumpys ... the unsung heroes of the Scottish nation

A new Scottish emblem?

Stately: A Scots Dump cockerel

THE first occupants of my smallholding came from an endangered species of hens called Scots Dumpys and, as their name suggests, they originate from Scotland and have a history stretching back to 900AD.
 They were in danger of becoming extinct in the last century and are still on a watch list by the Rare Breeds Survival Trust.
 Legend has it that because of their excellent hearing they were used by the Celts and the Picts in Scotland to raise the alarm if would-be invaders pitched up over the border from England. The hens would send out high-pitched clucking sounds if they felt in danger and the tell-tale crunch of a stranger treading on a distant bunch of thistles, which still grow in abundance, would be enough to raise the alarm. I'm told this is why the thistle became an emblem of Scotland but I would've thought if that was the case, then the Dumpy should also have been equally acknowledged.
 The Americans have their Bald Eagle so why not have the Dumpy as the country's bird? Perhaps it is a suggestion I can make to Scotland's First Minister and SNP leader Alex Salmond in the run up to the independence referendum.
 My little bunch certainly know how to raise a racket if disturbed although sometimes I think they do it deliberately just to see me running outside waving my hockey stick ... happily I've not encountered any Border raiders although an overly inquisitive hen harrier caused consternation the other day by hovering overhead.
 My first Dumpys, known as The Originals, came from a chicken house on the Isle of Wight and were all cuckoo coloured comprising of seven hens and one cockerel called Horatio. They all hatched on June 7 2012 and I took possession of them in the August. Shortly afterwards they were joined by Beryl and Ruby, two very aloof black Dumpys from Halifax and two more, Napoleon (pictured above right) and Josephine, came from Northampton. By September I had four more cuckoo-coloured birds from Cheshire known as The Newbies  - Maisy, Daisy, Little Dorrit and Jumping Jack.
 Their names reflect their characters but perhaps the most loving and giving were The Newbies; they were certainly the most affectionate, enjoyed being handled, and the first to produce eggs which they did from mid-December on an almost daily basis and with great pride. Occasional visitors to the hen pen love The Newbies, with the exception of Jack but I'll deal with him another time.

St Boswell's research centre

 Just a few days ago I noticed Maisy climbing into a nesting box and she looked fine but several hours later she was dead. I still can not believe it because everything seemed so normal that day. I took her body to an animal laboratory in nearby St Boswells to get a post mortem examination done in the hope of establishing the cause of death. The staff are really friendly and  incredibly efficient - I suppose they have to be because if livestock go down everyone needs to know if the cause is a serious disease like foot and mouth or something similar. Within 24 hours I had the answer - Maisy had succumbed to egg yolk peritonitus which in human terms is similar to an ectopic pregnancy. Sadly she didn't show any of the symptoms I've since looked up on Google so I'm not sure anything could've been done to save her.

 What I do have is a video clip taken a few weeks back of Maisy after she'd been bathed and shampooed (my hens love their spa day as I will show you in future postings) - and, as you can hear we were sitting listening to Prime Minister's Question Time on Radio 4 in the kitchen when she laid an egg just before David Cameron was ambushed by Bradford West's Respect MP George Galloway over the situation in Mali..
 This little clip is my tribute to a wonderful hen and her brief, but happy life.

SAD SILO SNIPPET

Shell shocked: Maisy in 

happier times

Maisy - Born June 2012 died March 5 2013

 This was the last photograph taken of one of my favourite hens, Maisy ... a wee Scots Dumpy with an amazing character.
 Sadly she died in her nesting box on Tuesday and I am now waiting for a full post mortem examination report to find out what killed her.

SILO SNIPPET -

Bat update

IN A PREVIOUS report <http://soho2silo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/bats-cautionary-tale.html> I featured this little chap on the right discussing if he was alive or dead. Well the general consensus now from a variety of countryside experts who've happened by these last few days is that he is as dead as a dodo. If this is the case, and it's looking increasingly likely now, then that is a great pity. A visitor to my home today identified the bat as the "common pipistrelle." Not quite sure what to do with his body or if I should just leave him hanging from the door - any suggestions greatly appreciated.

Unwelcome visitors ..

Or, there's a mouse in the House

 I've never been plagued at home by rodents, not even when I lived in Soho where apparently you're never more than seven feet away from a rat ... the four legged variety, of course. My other half puts that down to the fact I never cooked when I lived on my own which is true to a certain extent and since I travelled frequently there was never any food left lying around.

 So, unless any furry visitors to my pad carried a can opener it was pretty pointless making a nest in a food-free house.

 However since I left London's Zone 1 and made my new home in the Borders, I've grown used to sharing with an odd assortment of wildlife ranging from bats, jackdaws and things that scamper around. Usually I'm not too bothered by these squatters as most are nocturnal though the jackdaws are noisy at around 6.30am, especially when they've got their young tucked away inside the eaves.

Trapped by a Twix

 Mostly it's a case of out of sight, out of mind but if you're going to squat somewhere you should either be invisible or clean up after you. As regular readers of this blog know, I'm becoming an expert in animal poo - no shit, really! Just a few days ago I noticed tell-tale mouse droppings under the kitchen sink and decided to take action. I went and bought a mouse trap - not just any old trap; it was a humane one so I wouldn't have to unpick a squashed body from a guillotine device in the unlikely event of catching the damn critter. I positively balked at some sticky tape - I mean what would happen if you actually caught something? How would you unpick it and how would you handle your unwelcome visitor?

 So, using a squashed Twix bar - Tom and Jerry cartoons aside, mice don't go gaga over cheese - I set the trap and went off to watch the TV. Returning to the kitchen to make a coffee a couple of hours later I heard a scratching sound and looked at the trap's window. Unbelievable! I'd caught a bloody mouse and it was non too happy about its predicament and neither was I. Stage two had not been planned, nor even contemplated so I do what any sane person would do in this situation - I tweeted, asking for advice.

 The responses were fast and furious. Some daft, some cruel and some unprintable but all had a common theme ... make sure your unwelcome visitor does not run back inside before you do. So the best option, it seems, was to free my captive well away from the house and at first light off we drove nearly two miles down the road. 

 Pulling into a forest tract, two bemused Forestry Commission workers looked on as I explained the mission. That was a couple of weeks ago and since then my unwelcome visitor hasn't returned and nor have I found any other traces of mice poo. And for the Doubting Thomas types, click on below for a truly happy ending.

                                         A HAPPY ENDING