WHO'S A PRETTY BOY?

GOING, going, going - gone!

..Or should that be girl?

 He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is told me not to get carried away, not to stick my hand up and not to bid for anything ... not the sort advice I really wanted to hear as I took my seat in the arena of Hope's Auction in Wigton, Cumbria the other day.
 It was a poultry and waterfowl event and I wanted to go along just for the experience although I thought maybe a couple of turkeys or some goslings would not go amiss.
But it's very hard to get into the spirit of things when your nearest and dearest gives a list of not-what-to-do before you've even sat down. Anyway, I resisted the urge to bid as some rabbits, guinea pigs and hamsters were wheeled out and offered at the beginning ... quite what they had to do with birds is anyone's guess.
 Then dozens of fertilised eggs were auctioned off and it occurred to me that I could probably sell my Scots Dumpys' produce for one pound an egg instead of frying and serving them up to my hubby every morning. With three healthy cockerels roaming around the hen pen there's never been a question over the fertility of the eggs, so that's an idea stored away for another time.

AND THE NEXT LOT ... Hope's Auction in Cumbria

 Meanwhile, back to the auction ... with the exception of a few ducks there were some motley offerings that looked as though they'd come straight from a refuge so the temptation to bid was not that powerful.

And then the strangest thing happened - some Indian Fantails were exhibited; tumblers we used to call them when I was a kid and anything that takes me back to my childhood makes me go all misty eyed and nostalgic. Before I knew it I was bidding for them but the auctioneer wasn't taking a blind bit of notice.

 I thought a knowing nod, a wink or a tap on the nose were internationally recognised signs but not in this auction and so I missed out. But wait! A second set came out and this time I started gesturing quite wildly to attract the auctioneer's attention; with arms flailing around like windmill in a gale everyone else seemed to notice but he didn't seem to acknowledge me. By this time hubby was laughing along with a few others in our immediate vicinity and gave me an oval disc with the number 26 on it. He whispered: 'Trying using that - they'll only take bids from people who've registered.' By this time there were a few more sniggers in the crowd and I realised I was in danger of becoming the entertainment. However, that feeling of mild irritation that I'd been set up soon passed with the arrival of the next lot ... would you believe it, another set of fantails! I waved my number energetically. The auctioneer saw me and, even more importantly, acknowledged me by increasing the bid to £24 but some other punter waved his number, and another and another. Ignoring hubby's advice for restraint I continued bidding in an even more determined manner and £80 later I was a proud owner of fantails.

MALE OR FEMALE? 

 Hubby asked me what was the point of getting the birds as they didn't fit in to our smallholding strategy of every animal has to earn his keep but I waffled furiously, as I do when in a hole, and said we could breed them.
 When we got them home he asked what sex they were and I produced more waffle before heading to the internet to find out how you tell the sex of an Indian Fantail.

LATEST ADDITIONS: Indian Fantails

 It is obviously a question which has challenged many other new owners, judging by the traffic around the subject of sexing fantails but I've still yet to come up with a conclusive answer.
 So far I've tried holding the birds upside down on my palm - a cock bird will struggle to upright itself while a hen will just lie there passively, according to one blog. Some wag suggested swinging a copper wire over the birds' heads and if they're female the wire will swing in circles whereas with a male it will simply go back and forth.
 I even held a mirror up to each of the four as one 'expert' insisted a male bird will crow and puff out its chest thinking it has a rival while a female will look into the mirror and then look the other way totally disinterested. None of the above worked and seeing how exasperated I was becoming hubby volunteered that he knew a sure fire, 100pc way of telling the male and female birds apart.
 'I can guarantee,' he said, 'that the one that lays an egg will be female!'

PLAYING FOR REAL

..Or serious business

 IT HAS come to my attention that some of you think I'm just bimbling around in the Scottish Borders because I've got nothing better to do with my life ... I wish! In the absence of a pot of gold or a jackpot win, I'm seriously trying to make a business out of my smallholding.
 Sharing with you some of the highs, lows and daft capers I get up to is what I do in lieu of conversation as I can go weeks here without seeing another living soul other than my hubby and daughter Daisy who spends most of her time in Newcastle at university.

TURKEYS: Ant & Dec have yet to 

impress

 So this little item is really about what I've achieved so far. Well my rare breed  Scots Dumpy chickens are slightly less of an endangered species now because of my black hen Josephine who went into her coup one evening like Carrie on Prom Night to re-appear a few weeks later as Mother Theresa with a docile, well behaved brood of tiny chicks.
 Then there are another half dozen young 'uns - real flighty hooligans - who zoom around the hen pen annoying everyone with their antics and they are the product of an incubator. In terms of behaviour I think this tiny experiment goes to show there's no substitute for a mother's love in the animal kingdom.

 The biggest disappointments so far have been the Bourbon Red turkeys (pictured above) - apart from a rash of eggs in March/April and three deaths (two down to disease and one down to a fox) they've produced nothing and if owned by welfare axeman and Chancellor George Osborne they would be really worried by now. However, I will give the turkeys another season and two of the female turkeys might yet just come up trumps. One is sitting on five hens eggs to satisfy her broody nature and another disappeared two weeks ago ... I am hoping she is sitting on a nest somewhere and will re-appear with a whole new family of chicks.

DON'T be fooled by the look of innocence

sheep are mad, bad & subversive

 The saddest period happened around the geese after losing one to a badger who'd been sitting on a full nest of eggs and this so unsettled the other goose that she hatched successfully only one gosling called Peewee. Next breeding season I intend to be more hands on and to hell with the non-interventionists; sometimes even Mother Nature needs a helping hand. But even without Peewee the geese have performed so well as watchdogs that on the security front they're worth their weight in gold.
 The baddest, maddest period was provided by the sheep. I'm no shepherdess and I no longer find sheep appealing following encounters with a few deranged, suicidal, subversive sheep. I've still got two prize-winning Zwartbles rams in the field but my long term view does not take either of them into account.
 I am hoping to keep red deer for breeding but I need to sort out the fencing first although a herd has been sourced for me so watch this space.

HONEY TIMES AHEAD: Let's 

hope so anyway as the new colony

settles in

                                                                                   

 And the newest addition to our little enterprise, the honey bees, hold great promise as long as the good weather endures. A good hive can produce up to 30lbs of honey a year but, as my Great Aunt Lizzie used to caution: "There's many a slip between cup and lip." So I'm not going to speculate on honey crops until I have some to process.

 In the meantime I've provided a few videos so you can judge for yourself what you think of my smallholding and if my time in the Borders has been 

wisely spent.

But please remember, I am a novice and I am very much on a huge learning curve so if you can throw in some advice, tips or helpful comments then do so. Some of the feedback I've had has been extremely helpful and enlightening and i hope you've enjoyed contributing as much as I have.

THE DARK SIDE

..OR how living in the countryside is not a bed of roses

DRIVEN BATTY: imagine this flying around in your lounge

EVER since moving to the Scottish Borders and regaling you with tales of countryside life many have told me how they wish they were here living the dream.
 Admittedly the isolation, getting closer to Nature and studying animal behaviour has been splendid, at times amusing and very spiritually rewarding but if I've over romanticised things then I do apologise. It is only fair to warn that there is also a dark side to countryside living.
 Losing a goose to a badger and then a turkey to a fox was devastating and a brutal reminder that life and death are constant companions here. But there's also the massive spiders lying in wait by the bath plug and if the thought of little furry rodents and creepy crawlies send shivers down your spine then perhaps the countryside is not for you. The dreaded Scottish midgie is also in plague-style proportions at the moment.
 Renovating a 200-year-old coach house has been an unsettling time not just for me but for those who share the same space - wether I like it or not - under our roof.
 Lat year while watching a creepy episode of CSI my viewing in the dark was interrupted by a daft bat which flew through a hole in the ceiling. At first I thought it was part of the program plot and wasn't quite sure why a bat would fly in and out of camera shot until I realised that the creature was zooming in and out of my vision in the living room.

BATH TIME: Spiders love hanging around

plug holes and sinks

 The odd mouse has provided a challenge and then with the arrival of the poultry came the dreaded rat. Hubby has put down poison, in a most inventive way to lure the rodents and not the livestock, but the pests were equally innovative and moved from outside buildings into the attic. The building, like many of that period, has natural air conditioning, secret holes, passages and a second skin to circulate the air.

 One evening there was so much noise coming from the attic I thought the rodents must be line dancing with clogs on their feet.

 In the end I brought in three Geordie moggies, half feral, to try and remedy the situation. The rescue cats came from some stables which were being demolished and a volunteer from the Cats Protection Charity Shop* brought them to the farm when she heard via the RSPCA that I was after some good mousers and ratters and prepared to offer a good home in exchange for their services.

MOUSE: Not so cute in the house

 Being feral, the trio are incredibly elusive, but have obviously discovered the secret passages and warrens which are contained within the building so while they are housed and fed in the stables they must be getting around already.
 I say this because last night, while again viewing TV in the dark, I heard a large scamper overhead, a flurry of activity and then something drop from the hole in the ceiling. It was a mouse and as I leapt in the air running in the opposite direction I'm not sure who was in the greatest flap. Having recovered my composure I followed the mouse to a dark corner and put down a humane trap containing a half eaten chocolate bar.
 Unbelievably it worked as you can see from the picture to my right or, if you prefer, there's a short video clip of the intruder just below. I popped down to the stables this morning to thank the cats but they scattered into dark corners as I opened the door. Feral they might be, but their manners are impeccable ... another dead mouse was left in the open as a gift in exchange for the far tastier meals I'm leaving out for them.
 I don't even have photographs of the trio, so elusive are they, but I'm sure in time this will change. Meanwhile they are doing an excellent job and I expect to be clear of rats, mice and other pests in the coming weeks.

 * I can't praise the work of the Cats Protection Charity Shop enough and have already made a small donation. Please feel free to do the same, the details are below.

Cats Protection Charity Shop
162-166 HIGH STREET
WALLSEND
NEWCASTLE
NE28 7RP

POSTMAN DELIVERS FIRST CLASS COLONY

WHAT'S INSIDE THE BOX? The clue
is in picture as my postman pointed out

..And another red letter day in the apiary

 AT LAST! My much awaited colony of Buckfast bees arrived today via the postman who did not share my enthusiasm as he asked me to sign for the parcel.
 'You'll never guess what's inside,' I said but he replied dryly: 'Bees, and they don't sound happy,' as he passed the parcel. OK, so it was marked 'BEES' in large letters but he could've indulged me. The occupants were indeed buzzing very, very loudly and even the box was vibrating.
 I knew I should wait, may be keep them stored overnight until my other half arrived to help me unload our honeybees into their hive but patience is not a virtue of mine. It was also proving to be an incredibly hot day and I thought the last thing the newbys would want was to spend another day in a box.
 So I swung into action and got the smoker going, donned my white beekeeper's outfit and prepared the hive for the noisy Buckfasts. 
 For those interested, this type of bee was developed by a German-born monk called Brother Adam (1898-1996) who kept bees at Buckfast Abbey in Devon. After huge numbers of the British black bee were wiped out in the second decade of the last century due to an epidemic of acarine disease he set about trying to breed a special strain of resistant bees. At Buckfast the only colonies not affected by the disease were those headed by Ligurian queens and hybrids of these queens with British black bees. 
 Brother Adam's lifelong quest to breed a strain of honey bee that would contain as many desirable qualities as possible for beekeepers is carried on today by his followers and beekeepers across Europe. In order to do this however, it was necessary to be able to control the mating of the selected queens with selected drones and thus a mating station at a remote spot on Dartmoor was established in 1925, this was in continual use until the mid 1990’s. There is a Buckfast club and more details can be had here: http://www.buckfastbeekeepersgroup.co.uk/

 As I bent down to open the box it suddenly occurred to me these little fellas would not be in the same party mode as the chillaxed Ayshire swarm we handled about 10 days ago ... swarm bees are usually full of honey and their bodies so bloated they can't physically sting you even if they wanted. Also all that honey has a pacifying effect but this colony didn't sound happy at all.

 After saying a little prayer I opened the lid to reveal five frames which I then gently placed inside the hive. The Warré (pronounced war-ray) is supposed to be simple to manage and maintain and was designed by some French bloke called Emile Warré (1867-1951).  After experimenting with 350 different types of hives he came up with the Warré and called it the Peoples' Hive. It's supposed to be popular with bees as well since they are allowed to draw out their own comb. New hive boxes are added to the bottom and not the top of the hive which encourages the bees natural tendency to build down ensuring an environment that is healthier and better suited to their own needs. That's the theory, anyway.

 There were still quite a few bees in the box but I reckoned, as I put the top back on the Warré, they would go inside of their own accord because of the Queen. OH NO, THE QUEEN! That feeling of Déjà vu swept over me as I said to myself: 'The Queen, the Queen ... I forgot to look for the Queen!'
The last thing I wanted to do was go back into the hive and start searching around for the Queen. 
 As I returned back to base, cussing myself along the way, I found an envelope which must have slipped from the box as I ripped away the sticky tape and excess paper ... it contained the instructions of what to do with the new colony. Suffice to say what I did bore little resemblance to the list of dos and donts but at least the end result was the same ... the bees are in the hive and several checks until late this evening revealed they were doing what busy bees do, as you can see from my short video.

 

SILO SNIPPET

 JUST inserted the new colony of Buckfast honeybees into my Warre hive. Not only did I escape without being stung but I remembered to take the smoker to pacify them first!

SILO SNIPPET

BEES do not like the colour brown or the smell of bananas - I picked up this little snippet from a veteran beekeeper just today and thought it was worth a share.

WHERE'S THE BLOODY QUEEN?

.. And do we have a Plan Bee?

FOR THE past couple of weeks hubby and I have been in and out of our beehive since collecting a swarm  from Ayr earlier this month. This wasn't how we planned things as in the apiary world less is usually more and once we'd settled the bees in their National hive we hadn't planned to disturb them for a while.

DOUBLE BEE CUP: Busy bees kept on building 

after running out of the wax foundation on the 

short frame

 However we're heading towards the end of June now and we've not seen the Queen Bee or evidence of her existence. And as even the most novice beekeeper knows, a hive can not operate without her and the colony is doomed to fail unless a remedy is found. So my mentor who lives near Edinburgh kept telling me to go back into the hive and find the Queen. Now despite our Laurel and Hardy antics - we even forgot the smoker to pacify the hive occupants on one occasion - hubby and I have not been stung once because those bees seem to have an unbelievably nice nature and are extremely tolerant of our fumblings in their abode. In the end we took some photographs to try and find clues of a queen's existence - eggs or larva would do it. I sent this picture on the right to my mentor who must have laughed off his socks - I'd made a basic schoolboy howler by inserting a shallow 'super' frame into the much deeper brood box. As you can see the bees have been so busy they carried on making honeycomb despite running out of the foundation material. Now apart from giving everyone a good belly laugh at my expense - and no doubt some weird ideas to the S&M world of fashion - this picture does reveal my bees are conducting themselves in a normal manner despite the best efforts of their abnormal keepers!

FRAMED: But can you spot the queen?

 However my mentor urged me to make preparations for a new queen just in case the old one had been squashed by us or had been left behind when the swarm was collected. Believe it or not there's a whole industry supporting beekeepers and there are people who breed Queen Bees. So I contacted a woman in Inverness who sells queens and I told her my problem. She could've just sold me one straight away - you can pay anything from £25-£50 for a queen bee - and let me muddle on in my haphazard manner but she realised how green I was and asked a few more questions about the condition of the bees, the comb and the hive. Her company Highland Bee Supplies is worth a plug because she was so helpful, so here it is: http://highlandbeesupplies.com/

 Anyway, she reckons cos my bees are so placid, content and busy there must be a queen in the hive. "You've probably got a virgin queen, one that hasn't yet mated. Give it another week and if there's no sign of egg laying activity call me back."

 In the meantime I receive a new colony of english bees tomorrow from Shropshire and someone has also suggested I nick one of the brood frames from that colony and stick it in my first hive. The reason being is that if the Virgin Queen is inside and hasn't yet mated this will encourage the worker bees to produce some queen cells just in case and if there isn't a queen then the workers will turn some of the eggs into queen cells anyway and create a ruler for their hive.

.

 .

Apparently a colony without a queen can go psycho and aggressive. Mercifully my Ayrshire colony is still in party mode so let's hope their good nature continues. In the meantime there's a mini video shot from the apiary and you can judge for yourself the temperament of my honeybees.

A HIVE OF ACTIVITY

Or what happens when bees swarm

 AS MANY of you already know the whole tribe has spent the last year as beekeepers-in-training and for the last few weeks we have been beekeepers-in-waiting.
 There's such a shortage of the amazing honeybee that they're like gold dust which has driven some beekeepers into a life a crime! Apiary raids, stolen beehives and a thriving black market has emerged as supply is continually outstripped by demand.

WARRE: this model is octagonal and far more

pleasing on the eye than the National

 So, as a would-be beekeeper I've been left somewhere near the bottom of the pile when it comes to sourcing occupants for my hives ... I have three types; a Warre, a National and a Smith. Priority has gone to veteran beekeepers who can call on old friends and contacts - we're still regarded very much as outsiders.
 Just imagine my joy when, out of the blue, I received a phone call from a beekeeper in Ayr who'd taken delivery of a swarm. "Do you want them?" he asked. He explained normally he would keep them for himself but since he was going on holiday first thing the following morning he didn't have time to manage a new colony.
 Without thinking I said yes and the next day drove four hours through a horizontal rainstorm to Ayr. I hardly encountered a single car on the way though the trip was punctuated by some of the most breath-taking scenery on the way. When I collected the 'swarm' box it was literally buzzing!
 In all the excitement I didn't even check to see if the queen bee was inside; stupid really because without the queen a colony simply can not function.
 As I made the return journey I was ecstatic as my dreams of becoming a full blown beekeeper were about to be realised. However the joy was short-lived or a wee bit premature, actually, when in a heart-stopping moment two bees emerged from the rear of the car. I wondered if I should stop or continue and opted for the latter. I opened all the windows and by the time I was near home I was wet and cold but at least no more bees had emerged from the box. Where the two bees had come from I'm not sure, but may be they were part of the swarm and had followed us into the car.
 I swung by a local supermarket in Hawick to buy some sugar to make some bee food and phoned ahead to hubby asking him to get everything prepared for our new guests. To my annoyance he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is seemed singularly unimpressed. Instead of whooping with excitement at my news he had a story of his own to tell and gushed that he and a plumber had spent all morning and half the afternoon trying to unblock a water pipe. He told me he'd found the corpse of a dead animal which he couldn't flush from the pipe and had replaced the whole pipe as our entire water supply had been poisoned by the rotting body. However, despite all the gory details I was equally unimpressed with his countryside tale and felt my business was far more exciting and pressing.

PLANNING and preparation already underway 

for next week's arrivals - in theory less panic! 

 By the time I arrived to the madness we call home I was at fever pitch ... a combination of excitement and blind panic induced by a four hour journey in which I had envisaged being engulfed in a swarm of killer bees.

 Perhaps I should've calmed down, had a nice cup of tea and exchanged pleasantries and scones with hubby who was equally as high as a kite. He emerged from the loft triumphant having fitted new pipes and cleaned out the water tank which apparently contained all sorts of things you would not want to hear about here. I dismissed his tale with the wave of the hand and went for our bee kits.

 We donned our gloves and suits and headed for the National hive with the box still very much buzzing. The holidaying beekeeper had thoughtfully put in three frames for the bees and so the plan was to open the box and drop the frames into the empty hive. Simple enough? No! In layman's turns I had put the hive boxes in the wrong order and when I opened the box I was confronted by 10,000 bees the majority of which flew into the air and around my head. I tried to fit the frames into the National hive but they would not go. Mercifully, because they were part of a swarm the bees were still in party mood, full of honey from their previous hive and quite placid despite the rigors of my driving and now the ensuing fiasco of trying to fit the frames into the wrong box.

NATIONAL HIVE with the empty swarm box and preparations

underway to the right for the Warre hive and another colony

 I shouted at he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is to put the hive layers in proper order but he shouted back because his hands were full with the top of the hive and extra food in the form of a sugar and water mix (hence the stopover at Hawick to pick up a couple of pounds of granulated sugar.) What followed was a vexed two minute shouting match between a Geordie and an Algerian literally surrounded by a swarm of 10,000 bees. We both have a short fuse and at this point neither party listened to the responses of the other.
 I then asked him to see if he could spot the queen - he retorted in Algerian so goodness knows what swear words were being thrown around and then I realised there was something else I'd forgotten - the smoker.
 It's the first thing every beekeeper does before he even goes to a hive. It's as automatic as putting on a seatbelt. Armed with the smoker the beekeeper wafts smoke in the general direction of the hive and/or bees to pacify them. I had forgotten this essential piece of equipment. Jaw dropping on realisation I daren't tell my other half this basic fact and contemplated running like mad for the house. He'd already asked why the material on his bee suit was much thinner than mine and said he thought a bee sting could easily penetrate the material.

BUSY BEES: At the hive entrance

 Fortunately I held my nerve and we somehow or another managed to get the bees into the hive despite our Laurel and Hardy approach. Even more miraculously neither of us were stung and today, three days on, the hive is showing all the outward signs of being very busy and full of activity. It seems the queen is inside and all her subjects are going about their business despite their precarious start as a new colony.

 A veteran beekeeper has told me to leave the hive alone now for a week and then go in and make sure the queen is intact and that there are no signs of the dreaded varroa mite or other signs of illness. I will report back in due course.  Although we've been blessed with amazing weather since the bees arrived I did put in an extra feed for them until they get settled. This was an upturned bowl containing a sugar and water mix but I have a nagging doubt we did not fit it correctly. All will no doubt be revealed when I venture into the hive for the first time next week.  I hope the bees are still in party mood by then but I will remember to take the smoker with me.

 In the meantime I'm now preparing my octagonal Warre hive for some new occupants arriving via courier early next week. I'm getting a colony of Buckfast bees from Shropshire and next month our third hive - the Scottish-made Smith - will be occupied courtesy of a colony from the West of Scotland.

We have also joined the Scottish Beekeepers Association and shall be taking our first bee masters course later this year. Hubby and I are so competitive that if we don't get equal scores life will be unbearable for one of us!

CHICKS FIRST OUTING

Or Josephine's brood go for a stroll

 Had I decided to incubate Josephine's eggs the Scots Dumpy chicks produced would still be under a heat lamp and that is how their life would be for the next few weeks.
 However she hatched them herself five days ago and each day since then has been one of survival instruction of how to eat food and drink water and how to scratch around the floor of the chicken coop and forage for food.
 Today she surprised us all by taking her chicks out to see how they could cope in the big wide world and, at one stage, she even took her half dozen out of the hen pen for a stroll.
 You can see what happens in this two small clips - Madge, one of the more curious of the cuckoo-coloured Scots Dumpys got a little too close and Josephine reacted as any protective mother would.
 Enjoy:

SILO SNIPPET

 CRIKEY! What an amazing day. We took possession of our first bee colony this afternoon as a result of a swarm and it was not without drama. Full report coming..

SILO SNIPPET

I'm absolutely buzzin' with excitement because tomorrow I head off to Ayr to pick up a swarm of bees - it's a 260 mile round trip but it'll be worth it ... if the queen is inside the box! Watch this space and wish me luck!

SPUR OF THE MOMENT

..Or Napoleon takes my bones apart!

  ONE of my animals has attacked me and I am in a state of shock. Not because of the viciousness and unrelenting nature of the assault but because of the perpetrator.
 I half expected in an unguarded moment I might be rammed or butted by one of the sheep, or that Jack the gander might suddenly turn on me now that he has managed to scare off everyone else who comes within his eye line. I even thought Ant or Dec, or both, could one day launch an assault on me when I least expected it because turkeys are unpredictable creatures.
 But never for one moment did I expect Napoleon to turn on me, but turn he did using his razor sharp spurs with the deftness and skill of a Samurai swordsman. My left hand now looks like something on a butcher's chopping board as you can see from the series of picture below.

TAKE THAT - palm

AND THAT - below small
finger

AND THAT - thumb

 It all began when I noticed Edwina, one of the cuckoo-coloured Scots Dumpys had developed a limp and as I moved closer I could see she had a clip of some sort attached to her leg which needed to be removed as she was obviously in mild distress. I merely bent down to scoop her up and Napoleon emitted a weird screech and charged straight at me.
 Knocking Edwina out of my hands he then set about in three quick moves to slash and stab my skin using both spurs as he drop kicked me Kung Fu-style. It was like a scene from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and it really hurt causing me to emit a large, ungodly howl followed by several expletives I thought I'd long forgotten.

 The good news is I removed the plastic clip causing Edwina the pain but the bad news is my left hand has swollen and two of my fingers can barely bend. I ran the wound under a running tap and wiped it with an antiseptic cream but it is very painful. I reflected on what had happened because you can't take these things personally ... or I'd be having roast chicken for dinner tonight!
 But, as Alpha male in the hen pen, Napoleon was not being predatory but simply over protective towards Edwina who was already in some distress when I went to do my Good Samaritan act.
 In future I will always keep an eye out for Napoleon as well as the two other cockerels Jumpin' Jack and Horatio before stepping in to the hen pen and I'll try to remember to wear a pair of leather gloves.
 I usually wander around with a large stick but I put it down as I knelt to pick up Edwina.

 And I guess I will always remember the relationship I have with my animals ... we're not friends as much as I would like to be. I'm simply the person who comes around with the food and tries to look after their welfare. It is quite obvious after what happened today that only one individual can rule the roost and that is Napoleon who, I've noticed, is imposing his will more and more on the rest of the hens. If there's an outbreak of bullying he wades straight in and stops potential flare ups and he's always there to keep the other two cockerels in check. He's also taken to growling while prowling as the video clip shows.
 If something similar has happened to you, or if I'm handling this the wrong way, please give me your feedback.

PEDICURE, POLISH & TRIM, SIR?

.. Or how to cut the nails on sheep

AS YOU KNOW I don't like sheep ... awful animals that spend their time either trying to escape or perform some kamikaze act to end it all. After my last experience with these subversive creatures I told my other half that in future we would have no further dealings with them. I really put my foot down.

STORMIN' NORMAN Obviously 

contemplating his next mad mission 

 So, he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is, duly nodded and then went out and bought two Zwartbles rams from a friend's prize-winning flock!
 Sheep are high maintenance and I'm usually the one who has to bail them out of trouble, chase them around the field, unpick them from barbed wire fences, drag them from the roadside and generally save their lives at least twice a week. The latest woolly drama began when one of them started limping and so hubby decided what was needed was a pedicure.
 We went to a local shop in Hawick where they sell all sorts of things for farmyard animals and instead of buying a pair of trimmers the assistant readily offered to give the sheep a pedicure himself while showing hubby how it's done. Sheep need their toe nails clipped on a regular basis and if neglected they end up with all sorts of foot problems ... a bit like humans in that respect.

NAILED: Our 'foot doctor' shows how to perform

a pedicure on a reluctant ram.

 However, when the 'foot doctor' arrived hubby wasn't around and so he set about with the smaller of the two rams. The secret with sheep is to get them off their feet and balance them on their bottoms so they become entirely helpless and are basically unable to struggle. As you can see from the picture on the left, our expert did this with the greatest of ease and set about chopping off the overgrown nails with some sort of blade-cum-nail-file.
 He was about to start on Stormin' Norman, the larger of the two rams when I said this was a pity since my husband was really missing out on some hands on experience.
 The foot doctor agreed and said he would come back later and  teach him. I can't wait to see he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is wrestling with Norman trying to put him on his woolly backside. Methinks I will get the video cam on stand by so I can share the occasion with you.
 In the meantime while busying myself in the virtual reality world of Twitter (@yvonneridley) I was introduced to a neighbour who really loves sheep. If she reads my blog she will probably be appalled because she really appears to adore them. In fact Annabelle loves them so much she shares her own blog with another like-minded soul and it's called Flockable Lasses: http://flockablelasses.com/ There you can read about the adventures she and another young shepherdess called Sophie have as they give their life experiences of working with sheep in the Borders. There's even a ewe-tube clip! Here's a snippet about their blog:

We are two young, blonde, female shepherdesses that have the drive to change the future of the farming industry. We’re going to show people that it’s interesting, rewarding and exciting! We both love what we do and wouldn’t change it for the world as you will find out through our blog. Our love for sheep will be contagious and will inspire new entrants to the sheep and agricultural industry!

Despite the fact I loathe sheep, I really enjoyed reading their blog and was quite blown away by the passion and enthusiasm shown. I did feel a tad guilty for dissing the animals they so clearly revere - perhaps we can meet up one day and who knows, may be some of the enthusiasm for the woolly ones will rub off.

BURGLARS BEE-WARE

..Or a string of stings

 LIVING in London's red light district of Soho presented many challenges but while there was evidence of criminal activity down some streets - prostitution, pimping, drugs - we residents were rarely affected.
 Perhaps local villains operating on street level made it too difficult for outsiders to muscle in on someone else's crime patch but whatever the reason, as a local property owner I never felt threatened.
 Similarly since moving to the countryside I've felt safe and secure but a recent spate of thefts in the region has shaken me and the rest of the beekeeping fraternity to the core.

PRICELESS: The humble honeybee

 In nearly 40 years of journalism I've never come across spates of hive theft but now there's an outbreak and I don't believe it has anything to do with the economy, social welfare cuts or other nasty policies targetted at the poor who are struggling to put bread on the table.

PARTNERS IN CRIME? No, it's my daughter

Daisy and her friend Tom.

You see whoever is nicking beehives and the colonies of bees contained inside must be one of us! Think about it. Not even the most desperate thief would lift a beehive without first going in properly dressed and while the couple on the left look perfectly harmless this is what beehive burglars must look like just before a crime; well let's face it a swag bag, face mask and stripey jumper is not going to protect a thief from a disturbed hive of angry bees.
 And would your ordinary thief know how to handle a hive of angry bees, anyway?
 While hives are not cheap - brand new they can cost anything from £200 upwards - the real value is the humble  bee inside which has become almost priceless this year following a series of rotten winters.
 As regulars to this blog know, me and my other half have been immersed in beekeeping books, enrolled on beekeeping courses and are members of the Caddonfoot BKA. We've got our kit, our hive tools and even our hives and apiary. In fact we have everything a beekeeper could want ... apart from bees. They're like gold dust and I won't get my hands on my first colony of bees until July from a Scottish breeder known simply as The Beeman.
 While I was aware of the odd hive and colony of bees disappearing in the region, it was a large-scale theft at his place which really shook me. Below is what he wrote in his online magazine:
                 .........................................................................................................

   Watch Out There's Some Nasty Evil Dirty Robbing Bas***ds
Last weekend we had one of our aparies robbed 13 top bar hives were taken and to add insult a further 25 were smashed or comb removed wiping out that apary and if i ever find them I will not be nice!
The customers who have been affected by this have been informed and all I can say is sorry that your orders had to be changed or put on hold. So as I stated in the last newsletter keep you eye on your hives with the shortage of bees and last winters losses in the UK bees are like gold dust. It is most likly to be other beekeepers doing this as to do this they must have to be booted and suited and your average tea leaf would run a mile when moving and smashing hives!               .........................................................................................................

My Warre hive looks
impressive but the real
value is what's inside ... when
my bees arrive.

It seems there's an apian black market - not just in this country but across Europe because of last year's rotten winter and non-existent summer - and break-ins at bee farms and individual homes make me suspect the thieves have a good knowledge of bees and how to sell them on in large numbers. When you consider a new colony is worth around £200 because of the unprecedented shortage we are talking big bucks.
 A recent wave of disease and pestilence, exacerbated by farmers using pesticides hasn't helped the heroic little honey bee either.
 So if any of you have any idea how I can protect my colony of bees when they arrive next month please do let me know. And next time you see someone dressed like a beekeeper it wouldn't harm to ask them a few pertinent questions or even take down their car number just in case.
 I only hope my goose patrol can thwart any would-be thieves - it's one thing having to handle a hive of angry bees but quite another having an angry gander on your tail as well.

SHELL SHOCKED STUDENT REACHES FOR THE TWEEZERS

.. Or how Daisy became a life-saver

 LEAVING Soho for the Scottish Borders was not a popular move with my daughter Daisy but this weekend saw her roll up her sleeves and finally embrace countryside living full on after I picked her up from her student digs in Newcastle for the summer recess.
 It was a baptism of fire. First she was hounded by the turkeys, then ran screaming as the goose patrol headed in her direction followed by feeding sheep who, despite my assurances don't bite, tried to take off her perfectly manicured hand.
 A wee bit precious at times, she has her own fashion and beauty blog the contents of which bear no relation to the muck, mud and dramas flying around here. But, after just a couple of days she abandoned her delicate pink pumps for a pair of green wellies, ditched the garish orange nail varnish, donned some denim dungarees and really got stuck in with the activities.

GOING TO WORK ON AN EGG:

 No ruffled feathers as Daisy checks out

her handywork

 After knocking out a few home-baked scones she then busied herself around the hen pen to check out the new arrivals before billing and cooing over Peewee, our one and only gosling.

 But she really stepped up to the plate when I brought in an egg and showed her how the chick inside was really struggling to break out. In an ideal world, and according to the experts, hatching chicks should be left to their own devices but this little critter was obviously in distress.

 "The rules say you stand by and watch and leave it to God and Nature," I told her. I wondered out loud if I should return the egg to its mother but she seemed to have abandoned it and didn't even attempt to peck me when I removed it from a spot more than six inches from her side. Daisy said it was obvious the chick would die if its mum had already pushed it to one side. She sighed, picked up her laptop and after half an hour she went for her make-up bag to extract a pair of tweezers. "Reverting to type", I sighed inwardly, but I couldn't have been more wrong. The tweezers were not for her eyebrows but for Operation Hope!

CLINGING ON: Wee chick

 Using the skill of a surgeon she spent the next two hours pain-stakingly removing the entire outer shell by tweezers having read up on the dangers of trying to help a chick hatch. One false move and the internal network of blood vessels supporting the little guy could've collapsed and brought about massive blood loss and a rapid demise.  She knew she had to remove the shell but without breaking the rubbery outer membrane but it was the membrane which was causing the trouble. The skin was so thick the chick was unable to break free from its surrounds. Daisy's normally squeamish and her nursing skills - on me anyway - are deplorable. So I was well impressed when she continued  in her mission to save the tiny Scots Dumpy fragment by shell fragment.

TOM HOPE: On his way to mum

All of his exterior blood vessel support system was being held together inside a very fine membrane underneath the more rubbery one which held the chick in a vice-like grip. After another hour of delicate work an almost indistinguishable blob of matted feathers, gunk and other yucky stuff lay on the kitchen table. Out came the hair dryer to keep the tiny bundle warm while I plugged in the incubator and set  the thermostat at 37.5C. We left him overnight still attached to the equivalent of the afterbirth or placenta wondering and agonising if we had done the right thing by intervening when we did.

 By the next morning he (we're sure it's a he) was chirping away and had managed to disentangle himself from the yolk sack which would have supplied him with lifesaving nutrients during the night. In fact I just read this morning that chicks can survive without food or water for 24 hours after hatching because of the nutrients in their system.

CRACKING CHICK: Tom Hope ponders on

his new life ahead

 Daisy was well pleased with the outcome and has now named the little fluffy ball Tom Hope.

  The next big test was to return him to Josephine, his mum, and hope she would not reject or even attack him. I've read stories in other peoples' blogs about mother hens going psycho for seemingly no reason at all and killing their young. Josephine put the temper and mental into temperamental before she went broody and she is still approached with caution by me while hubby gives her a very wide berth these days after feeling the sharp end of her beak! However, considering she already has five healthy chicks one more was not going to be the issue. As I put some feed on the floor of the coop I snuck tiny Tom under her wing. I'm not sure she even noticed. But the photograph above, taken a few hours later, reveals the miracle chick in the foreground is now settling down to life as a member of the endangered Scots Dumpy breed all thanks to a pair of tweezers, Daisy's steady hand and a night in an incubator.

 If you have any tips or similar stories about how to handle a difficult hatch please share.

SILO SNIPPET

 JOSEPHINE and five hatched chicks have been moved to a larger hen house today but I'm afraid that the weakest of the bunch will not survive. Poor thing appears to be blind and is not thriving like the others. The remaining five unhatched eggs have now been separated by the broody hen. Two appear to be left out in the cold while she's persevering with the other three - could there be new additions on the way? Any advice from old hands much appreciated. I feel out of my depth.

SIX OF THE BEST

..Plus three of a kind

WHAT an amazing day it's been in the hen pen with nine new arrivals ... and counting.
 A friend of mine with an incubator handed over six cuddly Scots Dumpy young'uns that hatched from an assortment of eggs I gave her nearly three months ago.

SIX OF THE BEST: New arrivals

 In my confusion they were mixed up so I've no idea who the parents are but I think we'll have some fun guessing as they develop their own traits and characteristics.
 But during all the excitement I managed to overlook the arrival of three more chicks from eggs hatched by Josephine, my black hen who went all broody several weeks ago.

MOTHER HEN: Ruffled Josephine

 She's been sitting tight on her eggs, refusing to budge which has forced me to do battle with her every morning by lifting her off the eggs and carrying her to the nearest food station.
 As I've mentioned before it is important to make sure broody hens do get some exercise, food and water at least once a day otherwise they could develop all sorts of problems with potentially fatal consequences.
 Today was no exception although she seemed far more aggressive and resistant to being moved. In the end I gave a final yank and noticed two fluff balls drop from her underbelly. At first I thought they were clumps of matted feathers until both began to wobble and squeak prompting Josephine to emit an unearthly squawk followed by a series of really savage pecks which forced me to drop her as well!

THREE OF A KIND: The day old Dumpys

 All three were returned to the nesting box in due haste and left until later today seemingly non the worse for their experience.
 When I returned early this evening I went in fully prepared - gardening gloves on - I gently but firmly removed her from the nest so she could at least stretch her legs and pass whatever waste had accumulated from the previous day. The mission was accomplished and within two minutes she was back with her brood but not before I managed to 'pap' the three new ones. As you can see from the photograph there's still some eggs to hatch.
 This is a fast-moving story and I will update you tomorrow on any new developments.

SILO SNIPPET

 JOSEPHINE, my broody black Scots Dumpy, has just hatched three of her 14 eggs. Motherhood has not improved her temper - if anything she's more aggressive as her mothering instincts kick in - hence no early pictures! Watch this space.

NO YOLK IS NO JOKE

SHELL-SHOCKED: Can you spot the odd three out!

 .. Or who is failing to deliver in the hen pen? 

 ONE of the joys of keeping chickens is collecting their eggs towards the end of the day and now I'm picking up around nine from my dozen hens which I reckons is quite a good payback.

 At this rate I'll be setting up a roadside "eggs for sale" sign and operating an honesty box. Some of our visitors to the Borders are still talking about the concept with incredulity and commenting on how such a system could never work in the South ... a sad indictment on the age we live in, perhaps.

 But something decidedly odd has been happening in recent days - one of the Scots Dumpys is laying miniature eggs containing no yolk only egg white. I told hubby that we should market them as Californian Crackers for folk who don't want a yolk in their omlette but, of course, we can't guarantee the culprit will continue laying yolkless eggs for the rest of her laying life.

 I'm not sure who is the culprit - it can't be Josephine as she is sitting on a clutch of eggs having gone all broody - but the phenomenon sent me diving into the books and making phone calls to find out what is going on.

 Mis-shapen eggs are not that unusual - it's just supermarkets never put them out on the shelves and egg producers usually discard them.

 So far I've gleaned  that it can be a common occurrence in new layers who are still trying to sync their reproductive system, or it could be a lack of grit and oyster shell or it could be a sudden shock just as the egg is travelling down through the hen's system.

 Well my Dumpys by now should have no problems with their reproductive system and so I will put some extra oyster shell into the hen pen to avoid any more yolkless eggs which are known in the trade as fart eggs. I kid you not, that's what they're called - don't shoot the message folks, I'm merely passing on some inside knowledge.

WARNING: BARBARIAN AT WORK

.. Or bringing a touch of Algeria to the Borders

  MY husband is a Barbarian. No, he really IS a Barbarian. Born in some remote mountain village in the Berber region of Algeria, he often talks with a great fondness about his birthplace and the centuries-old traditions which have come to define the people who live there.

DANGER: Barbarian at work

 So when we moved to the Borders he said he would feel quite at home and put into practice some of the ways of his village. This actually filled me with dread in case he was expecting me to get up at 5am every day, milk a herd of goats, make a round of cheese and bake a dozen loaves of bread while collecting the wood, lighting the fires and getting the breakfast ready for the man of the house ... and all before 8am. That's what he reckons Algerian women in his village do, anyway.
 For the past few days he has disappeared off into the wood and apart from the noise of the chainsaw, tree branches snapping and other timber-like sounds I've not bothered to find out exactly what he's been up to focussing more instead on becoming a bee keeper. It's still some weeks away before I get my first colony but I want to make sure I am well prepared for the new arrivals.

  FOX-proof fence                       

 So imagine my surprise today when I went to see for myself what was occupying hubby's time. It turns out he has been building a fox-proof barrier to protect the turkeys, should they want to try nesting outside again. OK, so it's not Hadrian's Wall but it is an environmentally friendly version of a dry stone wall and it's a mega impressive structure.

 As you can see from the pictures the base is built with an intricate weave of tiny branches he snapped off from the lower trunks of trees and as the wall gets taller the size of the branches become thicker and stronger. They have been reclaimed from storm damaged trees on the forest floor. It's quite amazing, I'm sure you will agree. He proudly says the design is Algerian and will enable tiny creatures like mice and voles to pass through while blocking the path of our enemies Mr Fox and Old Brock.

 He also reckons birds will be drawn like magnets during the nesting season and his wall will become a host to all sorts of wildlife while repelling the predators who've made our lives such a misery these last few weeks. Regular visitors to this blog know the pain we've endured following the loss a nesting goose and turkey. Should you want to build a similar barrier I am sure my husband will be happy to advise and give some tips on how make such a structure. I'd also love to hear your feedback as well.

 I may even show the design to SNP leader Alex Salmond should, in the event of Scotland being blessed with independence, he wants a cost effective and environmentally friendly version of the Roman Wall built to keep out the neighbours south of the Borders!