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Animal
House Folly
Farm Blog
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Being an animal lover shifting onto four acres of land on the outskirts of a small coastal town seemed the ideal chance to expand my motley collection of waifs and strays. Firstly wild rabbits brought in to the house as babies by my cats, then angoras bred for their fiber, a goat, an old pony saved from being chopped up for dog food, stray cats, fish birds…the word soon went round that I was ready and willing to take on anything. In fact, I believe the word even went round the animal world that there was a cushy billet waiting for them. Having always been a townie but with the countryside at heart (fuelled by holidays on my grandparent's small farm) the rural life didn't seem complete without chickens in the background providing fresh eggs and gently cackling in the morning as they scratched for worms. So it was with a certain amount of delight when I received a call from a lady whose bantam hen (a black Orpington) had just arrived with twelve chicks needing a home. It was the middle of a bitter winter (which may reinforce the theory that hens have very little brain power) so it was important that the youngsters be kept warm. On their arrival I made them a home in the bottom of my bird aviary with a little A-frame house and a run made of wire netting. The first night there was a bitter frost and the following morning I experienced my first casualty, a small gold chick lying dead just outside of the house. But soon "Becky and the Bantams" as I called the clutch were making themselves at home and I would watch as this clucky Mum taught them how to forage for themselves. In fact it was amazing how independent they were so early on. After a few weeks I soon learned a lesson that anyone who breeds poultry knows, than in any clutch the majority of youngsters are roosters. I ended up with seven including three who were to make a major impact in the hen house: Rasputin, Bovril and Eccles. This led to a problem. I don't believe in killing animals so how was I going to cope with all these crowing cockerels in the morning, not least how were the neighbours going to put up with all the noise. The solution was to put an advertisement in the local newspaper for good homes and my surplus-to-requirements roosters soon found themselves on smallholdings on the outskirts of the city. From this small beginning I found my interest in bantams growing and the following year added to the flock with six Buff Orpingtons. One of these, a hen called Bridie, turned out to be quite an escape artist. On her first morning she flew out of the hen house when I went in to feed them, out into the back paddock where she remained, perching in a poplar tree yelling abuse at me periodically for over a month. Just when I despaired of ever catching her again she arrived late one Autumn afternoon and calmly joined the other hens as they walked into the shed for the night.
Squidgey soon proved to be a force to be reckoned with. Her greatest passion was for the walnuts that fell from an ancient tree in our backyard. She would accost any likely visitor and demand that they jump up and down on the nearest walnut until she received her reward. When a car drove over them she would dart between the wheels and grab the juiciest morsel, her stunt career causing many a heart stopping moment in the household. Then Squidgey disappeared. Just when I'd given up hope of ever seeing her again she arrived with four little bumble bees tottering along behind her. She in turn passed this sneaky streak to her offspring and soon her daughter, then her daughter were arriving with up to twelve little brown and gold bundles of fluff. Soon my flock had reached epic proportions with hybrid bantams of black, gold, white and all the colors inbetween. In an effort to be slightly business-like I began to sell eggs and found a small niche market of people who loved the taste of free-range eggs with their rich yellow yolks. Besides the hen mash I would supplement the hen's feed with kitchen scraps, silverbeet, comfrey, windfall fruit from the trees, and or course walnuts! Besides this the bantams would find their own titbits by foraging, occasionally in the flower garden which didn't go down too well! Instead of worming them with a chemical drench I used garlic and wormwood which I put in their water which seemed to keep them healthy. The first day that I used this concoction I was appalled by what I found on the ground afterwards, especially as I'd always been very particular about keeping up with a conventional worming programme. After all these years if keeping hens I find them just as interesting and entertaining as the first days that Becky and the Bantams arrived in a cardboard box. Becky eventually became the Grande Matriache of the flock, no longer laying eggs but organising those that do by pecking them on the head when they stayed too long in the nest boxes. Her great great grandchildren now forage amongst the flower beds and wake me at four in the morning. Do I make money out of them? Well the answer would have to be "no" as I'm too squeamish to cull the elderly birds and have ended up with a great proportion of geriatric birds who spend their days dust bathing in the dirt and sunning themselves. But then, there's more to life than money isn't there? ©Jen Longshaw
2001-2006
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without permission from the author.
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Then I acquired two Old English Game Fowls. These miniature bantams were
once used as fighting fowl and had a reputation for being rather stroppy.
Despite this I was worried that my much larger hens would make their lives
a misery a misery as poultry can be extremely cruel to those smaller and
weaker than themselves (this is known as the "pecking order" and is a
literal truth). I needn't have worried as the first thing that "Fergie"
and "Squidgey" did on arrival was pick a fight with the top hen…and won!