Feather coat, no knickers, butterflies and the cucumber airer

Mrs Poo is having a moult. I've been expecting the three newer chickens to go through this process for a while now, as they passed their first birthday a while ago. Ironically, Mrs Slocombe has been growing feathers instead of losing them, but given she was a bit sparse with feathers due to her feather eating habit, I suppose one can only applaud her determination to buck the moulting trend. Mrs Pumphrey has lost 6 or possible 7 feathers and is sprouting a rather nice new set of trousers. (White feather trousers are in this Autumn - remember, you heard it here first).

But poor Mrs Poo. She was looking a bit hunchy yesterday. Now I know she can go hunchy when it rains a lot but this was extra specially hunchy with a side order of hunch and hunch sprinkles, so I popped into the South Wing to give her a medical check in my capacity as non-veterinary qualified yet ever so caring member of the chicken keeping team.

Nostrils clear, eyes bright, bottom clean, legs smooth. So far, so good. I thought, I'll check for parasites. What with all the rain recently, dust bathing has been a sparse activity. And when I lifted her feathers, well! There's her problem. It was like she was wearing an over coat with no clothes on underneath!

I'd already read that hens can drop a huge amount of feathers in a very short space of time when they have their moult. Not experienced it before, though. But then my chicken moult reference barometer has been limited to Mrs Miggins and the dear departed Mrs Bennett who, when they first moulted, shed a few feathers from their necks and managed to cover up the thinning with a nice floaty scarf each.

No wonder Mrs Poo was hunched. She was probably cold. Beneath her top feathers she was pretty much bald. A few new pin feathers were starting to sprout so I am hoping she'll feel better soon.

I wondered where all her old feathers could be. No sign of them in the run or the pod.

Behind me, Mrs Feather Plucker Slocombe licked her lips and smiled.

Now, because we are environmentally friendly, we do not have a tumble drier. Actually, we did have a tumble drier. It was very old when we inherited it and it struggled on bravely through three or four winters before its door fell off. And because I didn't have time to sit in front of it, keeping it closed with my foot to make it work and because the feeling of hot air breezing up my skirt was quite unpleasant, we got rid of it and reverted to the trusty clothes airer.

Until the clothes airer started to disintegrate as well.

Since we've become eco-warriors, I am loathe to throw anything away (aside from tumble driers with knackered doors). So the clothes airer is now positioned in the greenhouse and is providing a nice climbing frame for the cucumbers. We have three cucumbers growing at the moment. Not big enough to make a sandwich yet, but I am keen for them to dangle this year, rather than trail across the ground.

And whilst I was in the greenhouse this morning watering the cucumber, I rescued two butterflies. They were a bit of a bugger to catch but I managed to get them both and fling them into the sky outside.

'Well,' said Clive, as he and Maureen flew away. 'We shan't be going there again for our holidays.'
'I quite agree,' said Maureen. 'We hadn't even unpacked our bags.'
'And given that the Eden Project has so much publicity, I thought it was highly over-rated, don't you?' said Clive.
'Undoubtedly,' said Maureen. 'Call one cucumber plant an Amazonian biosphere experience? I think not. I'm writing to the Guardian as soon as we get home.'
'Which way is home?' said Clive.
'I don't know,' said Maureen. 'You're reading the map.'

And finally, here are some pictures of our patio. Tomatoes, peppers, lettuce and many flowers ready to be planted into the borders.