Posts Tagged keeping chickens

More Fowl Thoughts

Hello again, it’s the last Tialys chicken here with news for you about my search for a new family after my last companion died of old age and left me feeling lonely.

On Monday, Mme Tialys let me out of my hen house and, before I could even have a sip of water or a peck at some food, she tried to pick me up.  Well, I wasn’t having any of that sort of nonsense, so I led her a merry dance round and round my run, hiding in the bamboo and behind some nettles until she gave up and went off to put cream on her nettle stings, change her nice dress she’d put on that morning and leave for a meeting – she was late apparently, serves her right.

The next morning, the same thing happened, only this time she was ready for me.  All exits blocked, cage ready, I was nabbed.

This is me in the back of the car with all my leftover food – it was torture as I hadn’t had breakfast. I’m sitting on a newspaper with a photo of a half naked man on the front – apparently it’s Aidan Turner aka Poldark.  He’s alright I suppose but he’s got no feathers worth a mention so I peed on him.

Half an hour later I was in a new place.

Mme Tialys has some good friends who she says, if ever she comes back as an animal and needs a home with humans, they would be the ones she would want to adopt her.  When they saw my ad on Tinder, they said I could go and live with them and their chickens (and horses, donkeys, dogs, cats, etc.) so Mme. Tialys took me there to see if I approved.

Mme. Karen is holding me in the cage while Monsieur John distracts the others with some noodles.

Let me at those noodles, I’m starving.


I was gratified to see that I am the fattest biggest chicken there so I did start duffing a few of them up just to show I wasn’t going to take kindly to them ganging up on me or anything.  Monsieur John asked Mme Tialys if she had a muzzle for me.  Cheek!

O.K., you’ve showed me where the noodles are kept, you can clear off now Lightweight.

So, I won’t be lonely any more – there are 14 other chickens here including some funny looking Leghorns and it’s obvious that Monsieur John is a complete softie where his chickens are concerned so I’ll soon have him wrapped round my little chicken foot and doing my bidding.  I might even try to squeeze an egg out for him every now and again.

What do you think of my new place?

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Chicken Tinder

Plump, attractive, mature lady with all her own feathers looking for somebody to strut with and possibly share some snails and bugs.  Has own transport and can sometimes squeeze an egg out.  GSOH (good sense of hens) essential.  

I am all that is left of the Tialys flock.

In the old days there were a few of us and we had a handsome cockerel called Darth who looked after us.

I used to chat with him and we sometimes had a laugh together by pretending not to see that a kitten was stalking us.

These black hens were the oldest and had been Tialys chickens since 2006.

Darth died last year aged 11 and only me and Grandma Black Hen were left.  We flew up into a tree earlier last year when the weasels came and decapitated our last two sisters right in front of us.

Last weekend, Grandma Black Hen started to fade and then she died – she was 12 years old and my last friend.

I came rushing out of my coop this morning as usual –

then I remembered I am all alone now.

I heard Mr. & Mrs. Tialys say they don’t want to keep chickens any more so they won’t be getting me any new friends but they are worried I’ll be lonely.

I am too.

 

 

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I Used To Wear High Heels

As I sit here typing this short post and listening to my dogs expelling the noxious gases that have resulted from them eating all the fallen plums in the garden, I find myself reflecting on how the townie I once was could have ended up in rural France with too many dogs, cats and chickens.

You may remember the cockerel, Darth.  I included a bit about him in a previous post when I was researching humane ways to put him out of his misery as he kept falling over and having problems getting up again.  Having rejected the suggested methods, one of which was putting him in a bucket attached to the exhaust pipe of the car, I decided to let nature take its course and see what happened.  Fifteen months later he is still strutting around and making a racket – maybe somebody tipped him off to what I was thinking.

CockerelAged 9

Mlle. Tialys the Younger phoned me when I was at my friend’s house the other day because, on one of her rare trips into the light of day, she noticed Darth was falling over again.  When I got home I had a look at him and realised his spurs had grown so long he had to perform a ridiculous high step to get one leg past the other without impaling himself on them.  I Googled.  I put on my waterproof walking trousers in case of blood or chicken poo, armed myself with a thick towel, virginal garden gloves (Mr. Tialys buys me them in the hope that I might actually do some gardening), the dogs’ nail clippers, some kitchen roll, some disinfectant and one of these –

Baked Potato

Well, my one wasn’t cut open and didn’t have butter on it but a baked potato it was.

As directed on YouTube, I stuck the overgrown spurs of my astounded cockerel into hot potatoes (I took two up with me – one for each leg), patiently waited a few minutes and then had a bit of a twist with the nail clippers.  I should have had pliers but couldn’t find them in Mr. T’s fiendishly disorganised shed.  I didn’t think anything was going to happen but then, suddenly, I felt it give and I got myself a little trophy.

Removed chicken spur

(cotton reel for scale)

This procedure exposed a couple of little bloody stumps  which I squirted with animal disinfectant and, almost immediately, he appeared much more comfortable.

If you had known me back in the day, you would never, ever have believed this was the sort of thing I would end up doing.

Ain’t life funny?

A short post (for me) as I’m off on my holiday soon and I didn’t want you to think I’d given up blogging as I gave up Facebook this week (not difficult) but that’s another story for another time.

Hasta la vista (guess where I’m going).

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Taking It Outside

Now the weather has cheered up immeasurably, I followed my blogging friend Kate’s advice and took my grey looking duck egg blue blanket outside for another attempt at a photo where, voila, it is now showing its true colour.  (have a look at my last post  if you want to see the difference)

Huge Cable Blanket

I’ve finished another hexagonal sewing box but not just any old sewing box because this one has been my model for the tutorial I’m thinking of producing.

HexagonBoxToadstools (3)

I thought these lovely bright colours would show up well in the gazillions of photos I’ve taken of each cutty, sticky, teeny stitchy step.

HexagonBoxToadstools (1)

  I love those toadstools and, even though the interior check made my eyes go funny when I was working with it, the good matching cannot be denied.

Hexagonal Box Toadstools

I couldn’t resist a ‘nature’ shot.

So, Kate and Lucie, start girding your loins, saving good bits of card and stocking up on glue because I might be taking you both up on your offers of being tutorial testers for me before too long.

I have stopped procrastinating – well, a bit anyway – and removed the two lengths of  fabric I bought to make trousers for Mlle Tialys the younger from the carrier bags they have languished in since I returned from the U.K. and, whatsmore, I have actually washed them.  I just need to decide now whether to use Sewaholic’s Thurlow pattern

sewaholic thurlow

or this vintage(ish) Burda pattern.

Vintage Burda Pattern

Which one do you think would be better for a ‘generous’ hip and thigh area?

I could have shown you a pup photo again today because I found two Husky dogs in my garden this morning but a friend recently mentioned my blog was getting a bit ‘doggy’.  I know I talk about sewing and knitting and crafting and dogs (nearly said dogging! :o) and other more general things on my blog but, I don’t want to become too much of  a ‘dog botherer’ so I’ll keep that story for another day and show you a picture of my old cockerel instead.  I think he’s about 8 years old.

Cockerel 8 years

He is still staggering around, despite the fact that, when I thought he was on his last legs a couple of months ago I Googled ways of humanely euthanizing him.  I was quite traumatized by the experience. I found various ways of dispatching him including the usual neck wringing, chopping off of head and snipping the throat stuff.  In some methods guns were involved  😮   An ingenious one seemed to be standing him in a sealed container on a tray with bicarbonate of soda beneath whilst trickling vinegar in and lastly, and possibly the most interesting for any curious passers-by,  putting him in another sort of container and taping it up to the exhaust pipe of the car.

Needless to say, he is still with us and I just hope that, when his time comes he will go peacefully in his sleep which is all anybody can really wish for.  Now, I bet you wish I’d shown you the Huskies instead 😉

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