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.

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?

EVERY CLOUD

.. and hope still springs eternal

 THERE'S still an awful pall of gloom hanging in the air since the brutal demise of Swedish goose Queenie who steadfastly sat on a clutch of eggs through all weather in the hope of becoming a Mother Goose. Sadly, on the eve of them hatching, her plans were brought to an abrupt end by at least one badger.
 But there's little time to dwell on death in the countryside and yesterday I was given a timely reminder of the hope which springs eternal courtesy of a tiny little ball of yellowish fluff seen in the video.
 I'm not sure what name to give him/her - yes, I
know I shouldn't give my animals names or get too attached to them but I am an accidental farmer and didn't sign up for producing livestock without becoming emotionally involved.
 Farmers might seem a cold, detached  bunch but from some of the private messages I've received, following the death of Queenie, it seems there are a number of great big softies out there who genuinely share my pain.
 To lovingly raise livestock only to have them cut down in their prime by pests like badgers and foxes is extremely frustrating.
 However, now I have to focus on the living and Jack and Vera still have a few more eggs left to hatch though I'm not sure if they're duds. Interestingly enough, when they take junior out for a stroll Bluebell, another Swedish goose, sits on the remaining clutch.
 The whole Queenie episode has really distressed her because the incident probably reminded Bluebell about her own near-death experience caused by a group of wild mink several years back. Her then owner nursed her around the clock and miraculously she survived. Unable to mate and lay her own eggs she now seems to have assumed a matronly role and is more than happy to help out Jack and Vera.

'BADGER HATES SOCIETY, AND INVITATIONS, AND DINNER, AND ALL THAT SORT OF THING,' Kenneth Grahame

.. And I no longer like him either

LIKE millions of kids, I was brought up on the Wind in the Willows childrens' classic by Scottish writer Kenneth Grahame which probably explains my romantic notions of the furry creatures who inhabit our countryside.
 Well my love affair with Mr Badger has now officially ended, quite dramatically and in tears. He is the prime suspect in a brutal slaying, a silent, ruthless killing machine which shows no mercy.
 This morning I went to visit Queenie, a beautiful Swedish goose of mine who has sat patiently for nearly a month on a clutch of around 10 eggs - not only had she vanished but the eggs had disappeared as well.
 With my limited knowledge of the countryside, I ruled out Mr Fox. Had it been him there would have been a right kerfuffle, lots of feathers and smashed eggs. This was not the case but there were very few other clues at the crime scene.
 I was going to call the local constabulary thinking the culprit may be human but
before bringing in the Old Bill, I picked up the phone to consult Jedburgh's answer to CSI Miami's Horatio Caine. As you can see from the 25 second video above there was very little to go on in terms of culprits and clues.
 Yet without the benefit of all the hi-tech kit and glamorous staff on hand to assist Caine, my man in combats had the whole crime sussed in under 30 minutes.
 Confirming what we knew already - no nest disturbance or fighting at the crime scene - he went off to search the surrounding area.
 And from what he discovered he deduced poor Queenie had been seized by an opportunist badger who dragged her off to a lair about 200 yards away and then killed her. He took me to the hollow under a tree where there were a few tell tale grey and white feathers which resembled the ones Queenie once sported. Badgers have immensely powerful jaws and this one left no other trace of my beautiful goose, given to me as a gift by a very good friend. Had she been 'done in' by a fox there would've been traces of rib cage and other non-chewable bones and debris, said my forensic expert.

QUEENIE: Tragic end

 Badgers also find eggs hard to resist and the silent killer would have returned to the nest to then devour all of the eggs and their contents thereby leaving very little trace of what had happened. As a protected species these creatures polarise opinion. This lot absolutely love the nocturnal villain: http://www.beautifulbritain.co.uk/htm/wildlife_gardening/badger_facts.htm as do folk like me brought up on stories from the pages of Wind in the Willows. However living in the country, trying to rear animals, has completely revised my opinion of Mr Badger and now I find myself at one with most of the farming community.
 The badger who attacked Queenie not only robbed me of a beautiful pet goose but he - and his accomplices - also destroyed any chance for the next generation of geese and her chance to be a Mother Goose.
 Apparently badgers are opportunistic so it is likely a terrible coincidence that they set about her just as the eggs were due to hatch. But I feel very angry and helpless and wonder what I could've done to prevent this from happening. The answer, in short, is nothing if I want my animals to roam freely.

SILENT KILLER: Badger like this one

killed by goose

 Unless I keep the livestock under lock down 24/7 I suppose they will be a target for predators. I've spent so much time and effort focussing on Mr Fox that I hadn't taken in to account the badgers - there are more than 50 setts within a mile radius of where I live in the Scottish Borders so I now need to pit my wits against a totally new predator ... within the confines of the law, of course.
 Any suggestions would be most welcome.
                                                                                            

SILO SNIPPETS

Two new additions ... and counting

 Vera my Toulouse goose has hatched two goslings and there's still around eight more eggs to go - gander Jack is very excited and finally vindicated after there was a question mark placed over his virility when the expected hatch went past the due date on May 2.
 * Since this original posting one of the goslings died a few minutes later and another failed to make it out of his shell.