THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

..Sly fox strikes again

 TWO of my favourite hens have disappeared - Josephine seen below in the video just five days after she hatched her chicks and Beryl, another black Scots Dumpy.
 Both of them were stunning specimens and now they are no more.
 I can only assume they were nabbed on consecutive days by a fox as there was a mature cub seen stalking around in the afternoon on the day Josephine went missing, according to a neighbour.
 In many ways I blame myself and once again I am
 in direct conflict with the need for security and
 the birds' need for freedom.
 The residents in the compound loved to go out for a morning stroll and rut around the place, with the stragglers usually making their way back by around 4pm which is well ahead of dusk when the creatures of the night, like foxes, usually emerge.
 While the hen pen is about the size of a netball court and there's plenty of room for everyone, I've now taken to keeping it locked up.
 I really have no idea how organic farmers operate without losing their stock, but I just can't see the sense in losing more of my feathered friends.
 Josephine, who I bought along with the cockerel Napoleon, from a place in Northampton in September 2012, had a special place in my heart. She was the first to go all broody a few months back and started sitting on a bunch of eggs successfully hatching six chicks.
 They made a wonderful sight as they foraged around during the early summer months and were a tight little group until a couple of weeks ago when she pushed them into venturing out without her close supervision. The Young Ones seem oblivious to the absence of their mother but Napoleon appears to have changed in temperament and seems less ebullient.

TOGETHER ... but not forever. 

Napoleon and Josephine

 The trouble with Josephine is that she was a bit of a loner and probably, after spending the last few months sitting, hatching and rearing chicks she was enjoying her own space. I keep hoping she will re-appear but deep down I know that is unlikely.

 And Beryl, who was extremely aggressive and not disimilar in temperament to Josephine,  disappeared 24 hours later.  I bought Beryl, along with her soul mate Ruby,  at a farm on the edge of Saddleworth Moors near Manchester. Both of them  were wonderful examples of their rare breed species but now Ruby is alone and I can tell she misses her best friend.

There is a sadness hanging over the hen pen at the moment which is largely caused by the fact the happy wanderers are now confined to quarters and are limited to what they can get up to within the pen.

 Egg production is down slightly which could be due to this change or possibly the weather as the days are much shorter and there's a chilly, autumnal feel about the place. if any of you have advice on how I can bring some cheer back please let me know.

 As for the young fox, well he's not been seen for a few days now but I shan't feel sad at all if any of the local gamekeepers catch him in their sights.

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!

INVASION OF THE EGG SNATCHERS

 Another case for 'B' ... Jedburgh's CSI

RAT SNATCHERS: Painting by Igor Maykov

 AN INTRIGUING series of events has rather focussed our attention these last few days - every morning a part digested egg has been found in the rear yard. Two contained the fully formed embryos of what looked like tiny turkeys while another couple of crushed shells simply could've come out of the hen pen and contained nothing more than traces of yolk.

 Since I collect daily from the hens I ruled out foul play from the pen but wondered where else the hens eggs had come from and who was the culprit and where did the turkey ones come from? And even though I'm still reeling from the last badger visit, I knew Old Brock couldn't be blamed this time round purely because he wouldn't have left any evidence. A fox would've scoffed the turkey embryo while perhaps leaving a few fragments of shell. Then I remembered a story I'd been told a few weeks back, I thought it was an urban myth, but it is perfectly illustrated in the charming picture above right by Latvian artist Igor Maykov. There was nothing else to do I simply had to call in the countryside crime buster, Jedburgh's equivalent of CSI Miami's 'H' aka Horatio Caine. It's a wonder 'B' hasn't gone ex-directory as every other day there's seems to be a murder-style mystery to be solved on the farm but like most folk in the Scottish Borders he's happy to oblige when we struggling townies get out of our depth.

ANOTHER EMPTY EGG SHELL: But no trail or other
clues between it and the stable door in the background

 And so local gamekeeper 'B' duly arrived, surveyed the scene you can see on the right and scratched his head. He paced up and down and walked in and out of the stable several times - it was empty apart from the surrogate Turkey mum. I told him how I collected the hens eggs everyday and since the nesting boxes are all off the ground it would be too difficult for a rat raid, especially in broad daylight.

 He asked about the broody turkey and how many eggs she was sitting on. I told him I didn't know as they were due to hatch any day and she wouldn't let me near her. I told him that she had originally started sitting on her own eggs but I'd replaced them with pot eggs and then changed them to hens eggs. And then, when my other turkey was killed by the fox I'd transferred those eggs to her so she was sitting on a mixture of turkey and hen eggs. The penny dropped, sort of, as I said that.

SILENT WITNESS: The

surrogate turkey.

 Working out all the machinations 'B' said there were several scenarios but that all of the egg shells I'd found came from the same source ... underneath the turkey pictured above left. The real mystery is how they came to land 20 feet away in the yard.

 'B' reckons either several rats baited the turkey during the night and while one distracted her attention to leave the nest the others snatched an egg and rolled it away across the yard to eat. Or the turkey, herself, is separating dud or infertile eggs from the batch which are then being picked up by the opportunistic rodents.

RAT:  Charged, tried and found
guilty in absentia 

 Hens and turkeys will do this if they sense an egg is infertile or if there's something wrong with the developing chick inside. This could explain the near fully-formed eggs we found the other day. I do hope this doesn't mean all of the turkey eggs are duds after their courageous Bourbon Red mum paid the blood price for protecting her nest against a fox recently.

 Time will tell - as for the egg snatchers ... that's another mystery to solve. He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is has some detective work of his own to do to track down and get rid of these pests.
 And wouldn't it be great if he set up a web cam or infrared night camera up in the yard to catch the thieves in action. There's a great deal going down here but sadly most of it happens when I'm fast asleep.

TURKEY TRAGEDY FORCES RE-THINK

.. AS VIXEN STRIKES

  THE clumps of feathers told me all I needed to know.  It's happened again. Another tragedy and more loss of life but this time the villain was not a badger but a fox ... a vixen with hungry cubs to feed - and before all you townies go "aaaah, cute" with a bit of luck she will have carried out her last kill by dawn tomorrow.
 As regulars of Soho2Silo know, I'm still reeling from the badger attack which took out a goose and her entire clutch of eggs last week and while I agonised over what I could do about the turkey who chose to set up a secret nest near the hen pen (http://soho2silo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/nature-or-nurture.html) I did nothing. I decided to leave it to Nature and now there are self-recriminations.

TELL TALE SIGNS: The clumps of feathers reveal tragedy

 The unfortunate goose from Sweden was called Queenie but my poor slain turkey didn't even have a name. She was one of the Three Degrees, a trio of Bourbon Reds I bought from a farm in North Yorkshire.
 In the meantime some dear friends bought me an incubator and while I was tempted to take the turkey's eggs hubby pleaded with me to let her continue and so she did until the early hours of this morning. And no, I'm not blaming he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is and in truth he is just as upset as me at the loss of more stock because we are fond of them all.
 My bedroom overlooks the scene of the crime but since I have taken to going to bed listening to BBC Radio 4 on an evening to drown out the noise of the clog dancers who inhabit the attic (more about them another time) I heard nothing.
 This morning I called in my own CSI expert and he surveyed the scene for around half an hour and went off down a bankside leading on to a river. When he returned he gave me his assessment.
 The killer was a vixen who, judging from the clumps of feathers around the nest site, had struggled to rip the Bourbon Red turkey from her nest. He says it was a vixen because a dog fox would have eaten his kill just a few yards away but this fox took the bird all the way to her lair where she would have fed her waiting cubs.

SURROGATE MUM:  Bourbon Red turkey
sits on a variety of eggs due to hatch next week

 He followed the trail of feathers through the woodland and down to the riverside, then along to a small hump-backed bridge, over a road and into some more woodland. By all accounts my turkey must have put up one hell of a struggle because of the clumps of feathers at various points en route. Delicate paw marks also revealed the sex of the fox.
 And there's more - the gamekeeper reckons she will be back and, if wanted, he will be lying in wait. I nodded vigorously. Unlike badgers, foxes are not a protected species and, as any farmer will tell you, they are a pest and should be shot on sight. No time for sentiment. I am not going to lose any more of my animals if I can help it.
 As usual, where there is death there is also hope of life. The eggs were left intact and I gathered them all up and shoved them under a turkey which is nesting in the stable. Her own eggs are in the incubator and at the moment she is sitting on a couple of abandoned goose eggs and half a dozen chicken eggs as well as a pot egg.

NEST EGG: The start of another turkey nest

 I don't know if the eggs left behind by her sister  are still in a condition to hatch - only time will tell but whatever happens you will be among the first to know.
 And there's still more - the last of the Three Degrees has started laying eggs in her own secret nest very close to the house. The gamekeeper has advised that as soon as she starts sitting on her batch of eggs I should intervene and move them all into the stable where they will be safely locked up every evening. I am going to take his advice - at the moment I feel it is better to nurture rather than leave it to Nature.
 What do you think?

WHO KILLED MR FOX?

.. Another mystery and a 'brush' with death

 LIVING in the countryside tends to bring out a very competitive streak between me and my other half when it comes to observing wildlife, and since I'm the one who spends most of my time in the wonderful Scottish Borders while he toils over a hot stove at his London restaurant, it is usually me who clocks up more observational firsts.
 I delight in calling him at 6.45am to say I've just spotted four deer crossing the lawn or later in the day telephone to say I'm watching two Peregrine falcons soar in the afternoon sun. Occasionally he'll get the odd text or email and sometimes photographic evidence of other delights I've seen as I bimble around the countryside.
 Most of my encounters are pleasant or gobsmackingly awesome although I do admit on meeting my first badger we both freaked out and turned in opposite directions running as though the Devil himself was snapping at our heels. I always imagined badgers to be cuddly, about the size of a rabbit but this one looked like a clinically obese Staffordshire Bull on growth hormone treatment.
 So I have to admit feeling some mild irritation and a touch of jealousy yesterday when hubby came hurtling into the house breathless urging me to come outside. In between gasps for oxygen he gabbled that he'd found a fox and that it was injured and possibly still alive.

DEAD OR ALIVE? Mr Fox

 I tried to adopt a singularly unimpressed expression as I slipped into my boots, sighed and followed him. However, I have to admit I was well impressed with his find as it was slightly off the beaten track and could not be seen unless you wandered into the edge of some woodland.
 Since no one was prepared to venture right up to the beast to check for signs of life, it was difficult to judge if it was dead or barely alive and in the twilight our eyes began playing tricks as we thought we saw its chest rising slightly. Thankfully I had my walking stick with me - a rather grand, carved affair presented by a tribal elder in Darfur when I travelled to Sudan on a peace initiative several years ago. So I gingerly prodded the fox several times before declaring the animal well and truly dead.
 We left the spot wondering how he had expired and noted there was a burrow of sorts in the ground by his nose. Perhaps it was his home, or maybe he was a she, a vixen, and if so could there be young cubs in the hole? Feeling protective towards my geese, turkeys and hens I needed to counsel a higher authority on the matter and so phoned a local gamekeeper relaying the drama. It was dusk so we all agreed to meet in the morning and at 8am we were surveying the scene.

WHODUNNIT: Another mystery
grips the Soho 2 Silo crew

 Our man in tweeds and plus-fours came to the conclusion this was an old dog fox, pointing to the grey hairs around its face. Without a second thought he bent down and picked up the corpse for a quick inspection as we collectively stepped back in awe and marvelled at his daring. He declared the fox dead and pointed to some decomposition on its jawline as evidence it had died at least two days earlier. Checking its hindquarters he deduced the animal had been hit by a vehicle and must have crawled its way from the roadside into the woodland, possibly lying starving and injured for several days. The hole it lay next to was the entrance to a rabbit warren and he pointed to several other exits nearby. Summing up he said it was likely it had waited by the hole in a desperate bid to get some food but had been too weak, possibly from internal injuries, to survive.
 We were all well impressed with the gamekeeper's CSI-style analysis and then, knowing we keep livestock, he warned that the body should be buried quickly before the smell of decomposition attracts more foxes to the area. At that point all eyes switched focus onto he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is ... well he did find it first place, didn't he? And so, after taking a pick and shovel from his workshop he headed back towards the body but just before he set off on his grave-digging mission I said it would be a shame to bury the tail as well since it was so bushy and quite magnificent.

TAIL END: Prized possession

 Mr Fox's brush is now sitting in my freezer to preserve its amazing condition. Tomorrow I must find a local taxidermist to treat the tail, pictured left,  which I think will look rather fetching on my bush hat although once my daughter reads this I've no doubt she will have designs on it as well!