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.

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.

A HELPING HAND

..Or a hindrance

 What a rollercoaster day it has been and the dramas are continuing well into the night.
 Vera, my beautiful Toulouse goose proudly showed off a newly-hatched gosling early this morning and by noon there was another yellow fluffy ball beginning to emerge from one of the remaining nine eggs. See the short video clip below.
 'Nature not nurture', I thought to myself as I walked away but an hour later one of the goslings was dead and another was lying exhausted only half way out of its shell. Vera was clearly distressed and my presence near her makeshift nest was only making matters worse so I retreated.
 In the meantime I went to check on the turkeys and their own egg-laying saga - one has stayed out eight nights on the run now keeping a lonely vigil on her nest away from prying eyes ... although a previous posting reveals its secrets. The other turkey who is nesting has been sitting on her eggs in a stable for nearly as long, but I must confess I've been nicking her eggs and saving them for the new incubator which arrived a few days ago.

And just to make sure she's not distressed by the theft I replaced each delivery with a fake, pot egg. My other half pointed out that now she is sitting on a clutch of pot eggs it's rather cruel to let the deception continue indefinitely. His observations have really pricked my conscience and so I've now started replacing the pot eggs with those laid by my Scots Dumpys. Yes, yes, I know - it seems I'm using a shovel to dig myself into a deeper hole than the one I've already made.
'O, what a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive,' wrote Scottish poet Sir Walter Scott. I wonder if he kept birds?
 Anyway I daren't think of the deep psychological damage I'm going to do when the turkey hatches hens' eggs and looks at her tiny offspring for the first time. Nor am I sure how wee chooks will react by a massive, big mum who looks nothing like them.
 And I've no idea what's in store for me tomorrow when I check Vera or if the little chappie in the film above will still be alive.
 It seems if I remain hands off then disaster could strike if the little gosling loses his struggle to get out of his shell but if I meddle with Nature then I could make things worse.
 Once again the thorny dilemma of Nature v Nurture looms large.


                                               

SILO SNIPPET

..OR breaking news

 I am so EGGstatic, EGGcited and EGGlated - OK so that last one was stretching the point a bit, but I've just received news that 10 of my Scots Dumpys eggs have hatched in an incubator not far from my home in the Borders.
 Can't wait to go over and see the little 'uns and try and work out which hens are the mums and which cockerels are the dads! I will, of course, be more organised in future ... I took the term 'free range' too literally but at least they're all the same breed.
 Tonight the Scots Dumpys endangered species can rest a little more easy.
 Watch this space ..

NATURE OR NURTURE

.. Or should we give a helping hand?

OUTDOOR SUPER SCOUT: Davy
Crockett portrayed by Fess Parker

  HOT on the heels of his success of  finding a dead fox while out for a stroll, my city-based husband now thinks he's a cross between American frontier legend Davy Crockett and British super sleuth Sherlock Holmes. So when I threw him the latest countryside conundrum he went off into the great outdoors with an air of confidence bordering on smug.
 For more than a week now one of the turkeys goes AWOL within minutes of being let out in the morning. She feeds with the others and then wanders off, usually when I'm not looking, only to reappear several hours later after I've already convinced myself some harm has befallen her. My routine on a morning is to first open up the turkey house and place their feed a few yards away on the ground outside. By the time I go to the hen pen and release the Scots Dumpys the turkeys begin to wander into the yard towards their feed and usually peer disdainfully through the wire mesh as the hens scramble for their food. And it is in these few minutes that one of the Three Degrees seizes the moment and goes off on her mystery mission, it's as though she completely vanishes into thin air leaving behind staggs Ant & Dec, Little Boots and her two sisters.

VANISHING ACT: Five 
turkeys but where's the sixth?

 Twice now I've tried to follow her but as soon as she turns round the corner of the building and down a series of steps in the 12 seconds it takes to follow her she's gone. Her colouring as a Bourbon Red is very striking but once in woodland her feathers seem to blend perfectly into the background. I recounted all of this in detail to hubby and he vowed he'd find her, after all he found the fox didn't he? Two mornings running he failed to come up with anything but with each day he became more determined and then the Eureka! moment happened. And just as he stumbled across the dead fox this great find also happened by accident. He was working in a wooded area below the hen pen when he heard something stirring in a pile of branches, twigs and sticks he'd bundled some weeks earlier against a gable wall. Expecting to see a rat or squirrel, or something equally furry he watched and waited and to his amazement a furtive-looking turkey hen crawled through the bracken, almost limbo dancing between the branches, to emerge from her secret den. After she left, he poked around the pile of branches that you can see in the picture, below left. they're in the foreground wedged between to gable end-style supporting walls. His search was duly rewarded as he discovered no less than half a dozen eggs.

HIDE & SEEK: Can you spot the nest?

 Experiencing a mixture of excitement and irritation as he relayed the news to me I grabbed a bowl and we went off to the site to check out his story. Over the next 20 minutes we were at loggerheads over what to do. My instincts told me to collect the large speckled eggs and wait for the arrival of my incubator but he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is insisted that I let Nature take its course.
 On the one hand the turkey has shown a protective instinct, found a superb location to lay eggs and it is well sheltered if and when she is ready to sit on them. On the other hand, she's not a year old, this is her first batch of eggs and she has no experience of life as a mother; add to that she is used to sleeping inside a warm stable on an evening how will she cope with at least 25 nights under the stars? May be it's just luck that no predators have spotted her secret nest so far, but when she spends 24/7 for 25 days sitting on the nest she might not be as lucky.
 Hubby has gone back to London now,  and today I thought I would make a quick check of the nest. Here are a couple of pictures which will give you an idea of how well camouflaged she is to the human eye, but what about a fox?

SPOT THE BIRD: Can you see her?

GOTCHA: A clearer closer 
shot of the mum-to-be 

 As you can see from the picture left, she is very well hidden. I didn't see her but I stuck my camera phone into the bracken and clicked away not quite knowing what I was snapping and truth be told, I didn't realise she was in there at all because she remained completely silent throughout. I was merely trying to establish how many eggs she had laid and if they were still there so it took a while to spot her in this photograph, a bit like those babyscan pictures they show in hospitals to expectant mums, most of us sit there nodding enthusiastically too embarrassed to say we can't spot the baby. If you still can't see her check out the smaller picture above, on the right, which was taken from a slightly closer overhead angle. So what do you advise? Should I trust Nature or should I intervene, grab the eggs and incubate them in a controlled environment? Nature v Nurture - who wins?

SHORT LEGS MEAN LONG ODDS

.. Or why it's difficult to breed Scots Dumpys

 I CAN proudly announce that the first generation of Ridley-bred Scots Dumpys has hatched, but it has been a very long process punctuated with sadness and great difficulty.
Just a few days ago there was much excitement when my friend Morag called to say two of my Dumpys' eggs had reached the hatching stage and the occupants inside were busy chipping their way out ... she owns an incubator just in case some of you city slickers think country folk sit on eggs in their spare time!

ONE DAY OLD: But sadly only one 

is destined to survive

 Sadly one of the chicks, see the pair of fluffy bundles to the right, survived less than 24 hours after its mammoth struggle to get out of its shell; despite being under a heat lamp it wandered out of the warm zone with another chick and perished in the cold. Why these things happen is anyone's guess. May be it was Nature's way of saying this little one was never going to be strong enough to survive.

 Either way the news came as a blow and yet another reminder of how life and death are regular visitors on my farm.
 The reason why Scots Dumpys are incredibly difficult to breed and why the odds are pretty much stacked against them in the game of life, is that some carry a lethal gene.

 When I first encountered the Scots Dumpy, an endangered species 

of hen with a history dating beyond Roman times, and decided to rear them I had to have a quick lesson in genetics.

 The best of breed possess certain qualities including short legs and a boat like shape which makes them waddle as they walk and the most common colours are black and cuckoo but there are some white out there and I'm told a new reddish brown bird is about to make its appearance soon once it has been officially recognised by The Scots Dumpy Club (http://www.scotsdumpyclub.org.uk/breed/) of which I am a member.

 The very genes associated with desirable traits in the breed, such as the short legs, are actually caused by mutations of normal genes. In the wild many of these birds would have perished as they are often easier targets for predators.

NAPOLEON: Is he the father of the new chick - only

time will tell when its feathers come through

 Anyway, here's the science bit. The genes occur in pairs - one received from the bird's mother and one from its father - and if the dominant genes are associated with short legs, for instance, then the chick will have short legs.  However, these dominant mutant genes that give short legs in Scots Dumpy are also associated with problems during incubation and as such chicks with two copies of these genes might never hatch.

 The presence of the Scots Dumpys' lethal genes means your hatch rate is automatically reduced by 25% before you even start to breed. It seems the odds were even higher against mine ... for instance, I gave Morag 15 eggs and only two reached the hatching stage and then, sadly, only one survived more than 24 hours. I've now given her another batch of eggs and we're hoping for a better success rate. I am hoping to acquire an incubator soon so I will be able to incubate the eggs myself and I will write on the subject of incubation in more detail in the coming weeks.
 In the meantime I will give regular progress reports and updated snippets on the first 'Ridley' Scots Dumpy. With a bit of luck I should take possession of him or her in three months time. At the moment it's far too soon to know the hen's sex let alone its colouring or the length of its legs.