Poultry News

News from Cluckinghen Palace - Mrs Pumphrey is on the job again. No, not that one (minds out of the gutter, please) - the other one. The one involving laying eggs. For two days on the trot we have been back to 3-eggs-a-day production. The girls are on top form. And given that Mrs Miggins is now in her third season, I think that is pretty good going.

'I am great chicken,' says Mrs Miggins.
'Indeed you are,' I say.
'One day there will be a statue erected in my honour,' says Miggins.
'No doubt,' says I. And I am in no doubt because Mrs M has already furnished me with the plans and instructions, and the threat that if I don't see to the aforesaid monument immediately after her demise she'll be back to haunt me.
'It's a particularly fine statue, don't you think?' says Miggins. 'I especially like the fact it is of me perched on a hugh pile of eggs and wearing my best Dame Edna spectacles.'

So here we are, chicken keepers of nearly two years now. I have decided that keeping chickens is one of my favourite things. Even the part that involves winter morning forays into the garden in jim-jams and wellies to carry out chicken breakfast duties. Because when the girls come hippity-hopping from their pod and gather round me for a double handed feeding session, it means my cold hands are smothered by three feather duvets, all warm from a night's toasting.

'I'd like to have a go at hatching my own eggs,' I say to Andy, only today.
'I'm not sure that's possible,' says Andy, 'what with you being human and all.'
'You know what I mean,' I say, and give him a playful shove.

I wait whilst he retrieves himself from the floor.

'And quail,' I say.
'What do you think I'm doing down here,' says Andy.
'Ahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaa!!' I say.

(Andy assures me this joke works - at least, he says he gets it. And he didn't have to think about it first.)

But seriously, I would like to have a go at hatching some chicks. I've done some preliminary investigations of incubators, which seem hugely expensive especially as I've got three potential incubators outside. Well, two really. I'm not sure I would trust Mrs Slocombe to be a steady broody hen. But Miggins had a broody patch last year, and I think Mrs Pumphrey would make a fine mother hen.

And I've also been investigating quail. They need investigating; shifty little characters it seems. Some reports suggest they are vicious blighters, other suggest they are endearing little birds who sing a pretty song. But, like bees, I find them strangely fascinating. But you do need four of their eggs to make a decent boiled egg breakfast. And teeny tiny toast soldiers for the dipping.

But if I am going to head into the realms of poultry rearing I need more space. And just yet I don't see how that is going to happen.

However, our continued quest for self-sufficiency takes another step forward in three and a half weeks' time when we go on the bee-keeping course. I hope it goes well. I'm really very keen to be a bee-keeper. And apparently baby quail chicks look like bumblebees. So if we end up getting bees, and the quail have to wait until our small holding introduces itself into our lives, then what I could do is look at some bees through a telescope and pretend they are quail.

It might just work.