SILO SNIPPET

 Broody hen Madge rejected the turkey chick she hatched last week but he is now being cared for by an Algerian foster dad in East London. Meanwhile she has just hatched the first of her own eggs and seems content being mum to a tiny Scots Dumpy chick ... one down nine more eggs to go. It's going to be a long night methinks.

FEATHERS FLY OVER FALCONS

..Or a real conflict of interests

PEREGRINE: Searching for prey

WHEN I first moved to the Borders and heard a high-pitched screech overhead I became quite excited because I knew we had birds of prey nearby ... to my delight, a few months later, I caught sight of a pair of nesting Peregrine Falcons. I felt so privileged to share the same space with these magnificent, protected birds and congratulated myself on being so lucky as to be able to view them on an almost daily basis as they played the thermals and circled overhead showing their shallow but impressive wing beats. However, the harsh reality of living with one of Nature's most efficient killing machines is now coming back to haunt me. The Peregrine is a big and powerful falcon, and the pair that live nearby have viewed my beautiful white fantails as food!

FLYING SOLO: Feeling a tad

paranoid ... the last fantail

This picture on the left, taken shortly before sunset last week, is the last shot of my family of snow white fantails together. They had just gotten used to their dovecot and were enjoying short bursts of flight around the garden after spending the last few weeks under a protective net.

 They looked so eye-catching and dramatic and it never occurred to me that this amazing spectacle was also being followed closely as well ....by the Peregrines!

 Two mornings in succession a bird disappeared and I couldn't work out what had happened since there were no tel-tale feathers of a struggle nearby.

 I mentioned this to a veteran fantail breeder and he asked me about birds of prey ... as soon as I mentioned the Peregrines the penny dropped.

 Now I have a dilemma on my hands. The last remaining fantail has taken to the dovecot and ventures out other than to peck the corn I sprinkle by the entrance. He/she looks so solitary and alone and I fear depression is setting in because they are flock birds by nature. So do I risk bringing in more birds only for the Peregrines to view them as a regular source of food or is there anyway to get fantails and/or white doves that are more savvy about overhead predators?
 Someone suggested I get an eagle to scare off the falcons!
 Any sensible tips would be most welcome.

SILO SNIPPET

 MY WONDERFUL broody hen Madge has just hatched a turkey egg which was originally abandoned by his mum who got fed up with sitting around waiting for her chicks to arrive. Not sure what long term psychological damage this is going to have on the young 'un when he realises he's not a hen but he looks very happy and content at the moment and Madge looks as proud as any new mum.

LADY-IN-WAITING

..Or, yet another Queen Bee!

 I'VE MET some queens in my time ... from when I worked as a royal correspondent following the saga of the Windsor clan for the Sunday Express to watching in awe as Freddie Mercury performed with the last word in rock bands at Newcastle's St James' Park ... and then there are the friends I've made with some of the more flamboyant folk who've strutted their stuff in the most fabulous way when I lived in Soho.
 However mention 'queen' now and all I can think of is the elusive madame who controls the beehive, the mood of the brood, the flow of the honey and the smooth running of any apiary. Without a queen the future of any bee colony is in jeopardy.
 As regulars of Soho 2 Silo know my relationship with the five queens who run my hives has been anything but simple.

RED QUEEN: The regal bee with a red dot clearly marked, top right

 The first colony I owned came from a swarm in Ayr but after a brief meeting with their Queen she was off swarming again. Unheard of behaviour and certainly not text book, but at least she had the good grace to leave behind enough eggs for the remaining worker bees to create fresh queen cells. A new queen should have emerged and mated by now and I did see pollen going in to the hive which is a sure sign she exists and, more importantly, has started to lay eggs.
 However I've resisted any temptation to sneak a peek after being advised to give it another seven days before I go poking around the frames trying to find and mark her.
 The colony in my Warre hive is controlled by a magnificent queen I've seen only once - pictured above right with a red dot on her back. The colour of the dot signifies she is a 2013 queen whereas the swarm queen from Ayr had a yellow dot on her back indicating her reign began the previous year.
 I've not seen queens in the second and third National hives but evidence of eggs and larvae tells me all is well. However the fourth hive has caused great concern in recent days because the queen located and marked by my mentor has disappeared without trace.
 It is possible while inspecting the frames we've somehow managed to lose her or even squash her. Occasionally there are casualties when inspecting any hive, no matter how careful you try and be but to lose a queen is bordering on recklessness. However, it does happen and whatever the story in this hive the queen has not laid eggs for several days - eggs, looking no larger than the size of a comma, are laid and remain in that state for three days before changing into larvae.
 If this had been the start of the season we might have just let Nature take its course and the worker bees would have quickly transformed the eggs cells into queen cups and raised a queen. But the whole procedure from start to finish, including the mating and commencement of egg laying could mean a month which would take us into the latter part of September just in time for winter shut down.

ROYAL BOX: waiting to be inserted into the hive,  the new
queen and her courtiers

 So we took the decision to intervene and buy a mated queen - again, because of the extraordinary challenges encountered in the bee world, there has been a run on mated queens and every phone call I made to suppliers drew negative responses until I got through to The Beeman of Corsock.
 Hubby and I jumped in the car and headed off on an 80 mile journey past Gretna, Dumfries and beyond and two hours later we arrived at a tiny hamlet near Castle Douglas where I met Mike, The Beeman. Ref: http://www.britishqueenbees.co.uk/british-mix-mated-queen-bee-98-p.asp He handed me a small yellow plastic cage about the size of a box of matches and said: "She's in there with her attendants. Put her on a brood frame for about two days in the box. Once she's been introduced to the colony she will start laying eggs like a machine gun."

LADY-IN-WAITING: The new queen secure
in her yellow box, top left, between frames

Deal done for £35 we set back off to our apiary but not before receiving a few more wise tips and pearls of wisdom from The Beeman who produces upto 3,000 mated queens a year for some of the UK's beekeepers.
 Our new queen is Scottish and among her qualities is a low tendency to swarm, possible hardiness against the dreaded varroa mite as well as an inbuilt hardiness for the harsh weather conditions often thrown up on this side of the border during the winter months.
 Another 80 miles later, we arrived back at our apiary just ahead of dusk and, after donning our protective clothing, inserted our precious cargo in between the brood frames. The plan is to leave 'Her Maj' hanging there for the next couple of days before snapping off a plastic tab at one end of the box. The entrance into her chamber is sealed with candy and the worker bees will eat their way in as she and her courtiers eat their way out.
 By the time they meet in the middle they should all share the same odour and the workers will greet their new queen as one of their own instead of an intruder. And, if Mike is right, she should then set about laying eggs in the brood box with the rapidity of an AK-47.
 If the wonderful weather continues for the next few weeks that means the occupants of National No. 4 should be in a good position to face whatever challenges the Scottish winter throws at them thanks to their sturdy new queen.
 After removing the plastic tab I will not be going anywhere near the hive for at least a week so that the colony can get on with its business undisturbed. Mike reckons any prodding or poking about (the professionals call it manipulation) by beekeepers could unsettle the colony which in turn could start plotting to overthrow the new queen and I really can't be doing with another coup or regime change at this stage!

SIGN OF THE TIMES

.. Or a warning to happy wanderers

  WHEN I lived in Soho I used to occasionally hear about unhappy punters who would walk in to hostess bars and several hours later be stung by enormous drinks bills and extras. However now it seems I'm in danger of being stung in my own backyard in the Borders ... not from slick operators but by my lovely honeybees.
 Just the other day I was stung twice in the face - once while I was wearing my protective headcover. Somehow I managed to get a bee stuck between the folds of protective mesh underneath my chin and as I leant over to inspect the inside of a hive the little critter got me. Tragically she will have killed herself in the process.
A bee sting is barbed so once it goes in it will not come out and as the bee pulls away she is forced to leave part of her abdomen behind and that segment continues to pump poison from the sting into your system.

OUCH: A new meaning to bee sting
lips after being stung many time

 Removing the sting should be done quickly with a side flick otherwise if you go in and attempt to pull it out you will almost certainly squeeze any remaining venom into your body. I could do neither unless I removed my protective head covering which would have been crazy since hundreds of bees were buzzing overhead. After wincing I just moved and and carried on with the business in hand.

 The second sting of the day came about an hour later as I was walking past the apiary where my mentor was still working. Wearing my civvy clothes I quickened the pace as some bees circled overhead but before I could start sprinting down the drive a kamikaze bee got me on my jaw line.

 People react in various ways to bee stings and, until then, I managed to wince and carry on but this time my face really flared and began to swell. Not as badly as the chap in this picture (right) but believe me, that's what I imagined my face to look like. By late evening the following day - with friends from London visiting - I was starting to look a bit like a female version of John Merrick, the famed elephant man.

TUNING SERVICE: Colin starts

healing with his special forks

 Knowing my dislike for the pharmaceutical industry, one of my friends Colin who is in to all types of alternative medicines, produced a pair of tuning forks and set about doing 'stuff' to my face. I have to say it didn't hurt, was not unpleasant and I'm not sure if it did any good but it certainly did me no harm.

STUNG: Vera (right) steers Bluebell

around the apiary out of danger

 Apparently our bodies are 80-90pc water and sound therapy ala tuning forks can do something or other; I wasn't really paying attention to the science of it but that night I slept well and the swelling had reduced considerably the next day. It was more effective anyway than hubby's solution which was to slap toothpaste on my face followed by a pack of frozen peas!
 The next day Vera, one of the female geese, must have crossed the flight path of our bees and suffered for it - as a domesticated Toulouse she can't fly but she very nearly became airborne under attack.
 But these recent dramas got me to thinking I needed to put up some warning signs to protect members of the public from experiencing the same pain and misery after a close encounter with my beloved honeybees.

IGNORE AT YOUR PERIL: New sign warning of apiary 

 Since ramblers in Scotland have the right to wander willy nilly a "trespassers keep out" sign wouldn't work - in fact it could have the opposite effect with the locals who have a history spanning centuries of reacting in a hostile manner to bossy english folk.
 So I went on to the internet to try and find an appropriate sign which could withstand the harsh weather conditions Nature chucks out in the Borders - I'd never seen horizontal rain 'til I moved north of Newcastle. I also needed something which would not offend ramblers, bimblers, walkers and the plain curious. In the end I stumbled across Safety Signs & Notices in Derby http://www.safetysignsandnotices.co.uk/  and spoke to a nice bloke called Simon. I explained my dilemma and he and his team of designers came up with the sign above. Now I have one at either end of the apiary approach warning those determined to take up the 'right to ramble' of possible dangers ahead. The team at Safety Signs & Notices have now added the design to their catalogue for other beekeepers who may share my concerns and if you ask them nicely, I'm sure you can incorporate your own design and words.

RAM ON A DEATH WISH

... or how Norman turned yellow

STORMIN' NORMAN, one of two rams bought by my husband after I had said "never again" to having sheep, has really tried my patience over the last couple of weeks. 

YELLOW PERIL: Stormin Norman

with medicinal face pack 

 As regulars to this blog know, I'm convinced sheep only have two missions in life: One is to die and the other is to escape. Norman, and his smaller Zwartbles companion, have made several attempts to do both since their surprise arrival a few months back.

 So I suppose it was inevitable when the beehives arrived a few weeks back their occupants would inspire Norman in his pursuit of the dark arts of trying to top himself.

 Somehow he's managed to get too close to one of the beehives and was stung for his curiosity ...

 

YOU GRUNT AND I'LL GROAN: Hubby wrestles Stormin'
Norman into submission before commencing with pedicure

although why he'd choose death by bee stings as a way to peel off this mortal coil is beyond me! As a result his face bloated up, his eyes virtually closed and, to make matters worse, he rubbed his already raw skin on the wires and fence posts. Of course the flies added to his discomfort and aggravated his seeping wounds. Yes, Norman, pictured above, either side, looked really pleased with himself. After a trip into Hawick and some sage advice from a sheep person I received a yellow face pack treatment to apply to the bee stings every day; containing soothing medicated cream with all sorts of anti-biotics, fly repellants and other stuff known to sheep folk it would do the trick. Not only did this aggravate my psoriasis but my fingers are so discoloured the marks resemble the sort of nicotine stains sported by someone who smokes 60 Woodbines a day - and I was wearing gloves. So yesterday, when both he and his fellow ram started limping, I made it quite plain to hubby that it was time he stepped up to the plate. And today, under the watchful eye of his mentor, he set about giving Norman a trim and a foot bath but not before wrestling him to his woolly bottom and then using the support of a wooden fence post to try and stop him from wriggling about. 

It reminded me of the great Saturday afternoons me and my dad used to have infront of the TV watching the late, great Mick McManus throw various wrestlers around the ring.

 I'm not sure who won on this occasion but, ever hopeful, perhaps Norman will think twice now before trying self harm again.

ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

..the turkeys are revolting plus other mixed news from the birds

MISSING: After a ruck with the geese

 ELVIS, the little quail who found a home in my handbag and a way into the hearts of folk in a Jedburgh post office queue, has disappeared without trace. I left him basking in the sunshine with food and water by the back door while I went to find a book before joining him. After a few minutes I heard an almighty racket from the geese and dashed outside to be confonted

WAITING GAME: broody turkey's patience

could soon pay off

with an upturned miniature water bowl as the gander Jack scoffed the last remnants of Elivis's corn.  The quail had scarpered and has been Missing In Action ever since despite exhaustive searches of the immediate area. Jack, a bully by nature, was looking a little coy although totally unmoved by my distress.
 This now means two of my birds are MIA - a turkey went wandering off nearly two months ago and hasn't been seen since. I keep hoping she'll reappear with a clutch of little ones but that over optimistic view is fast fading with each day.
 Meanwhile the broody turkey who has been sitting on everyone else's eggs for the last two months may finally become a mum in her own right ... well, sort of. A good friend of mine who was touched by her plight brought six fertile turkey eggs for her to sit on and they're due to hatch next week. I forget what breed they are but it is quite clear she will not budge until she has hatched some chicks.
 The only other way of getting a turkey or hen out of its broody mood is by plunging the creature in a bucket of cold water and, as inconvenient as broody poultry can be at times, there's no way I'm going to do that.

MADGE: Playing the waiting game

 On the hen front, another of my Scots Dumpys has turned broody and she's sitting on seven eggs though I confess I slipped in a quail's egg to see if it will hatch. I've moved Madge - one of the Isle of Wight hens - into her own box where she won't be bothered by the others although I do try and make her exercise and walk around for atleast 10 minutes a day.

SAD DAY AT THE DOVECOT: Three fantails

remain

 Scots Dumpy eggs are notoriously difficult to hatch because of a lethal gene which means a high number will fail to develop after a few days. But I'm hopeful we'll see some of Madge's offspring later this month.
 In the meantime I've some upsetting news from the Dovecot where my four fantails have been residing. One was found dead this morning inside with no apparent injuries or signs of distress. Another death, another mystery but the other three seem fit and well. The nets are off now and they seem happy with their new home.
 And there's more grief on the turkey front - Ant & Dec, previously joined at the hip are no longer BFF. War has broken out and the pair are inconsolable; they've had their squabbles before and I've been known to wade in and separate the two but this time the rivalry has overtaken their friendship.
 No longer can their turkey gobbles be heard in unison - instead I've had to put them in different pens after the last fight drew blood on both sides. As you can see from the video to the left a truce is unlikely which, because of practicalities, leaves us with no other choice than to to make a choice between the two.
 He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is can sort out that problem for me and may be my mum will get a halal turkey on her next visit.

I hope that doesn't sound callous but it's been nearly two years now since I moved to the Scottish Borders and in that time making unpleasant decisions has become just one of the harsh realities of countryside life. As usual any advice is most welcome.