Chooks

We got a couple of new chooks last Friday.

We first started keeping chooks, several years ago. A lot of people tend to get a new puppy when their dog dies. We tend to get a new flock of chooks when the last one of our old flock dies, or (dare I say it) meets the end of the axe.

We've always got commercial reds, aka, ISA browns. We thought we'd go for something different this time and got a couple of Australorps. If you're not in Australia, they're basically the Aussie breed of chook, based on the English Orpington, mixed with Rhode Island Reds and a few other breeds. They're black with a hint of green on their backs and a hint of red on their chests, nice looking birds. I wanted to call them Nig Nog and Golly Wog, but Donna vetoed that and so they're called Worcestershire and Soy.

Anyway, the postie zoomed along on his trusty 110cc steed this morning, and stopped, so I went out to see what new bills we'd received and the first thing I saw was a chook at the bottom of the stairs. The second thing was our next-door neighbour, Mike, saying, "there's a chook in your front yard."

Well, I grabbed said chook, after putting on my England football shirt, to protect me from her claws, chucked her over the back fence, then retrieved the phone bills from the letter box. Mike came round the corner with a big towel to help me catch her... "Oh, you got her?"

So we stood having a neighbourly chat for 10 or 15 minutes, then heard a flutter to my left, Mike's right. Sitting on the 5 foot high gate was the very same chook I'd just chucked over the fence.

"They're getting their wings clipped as soon as Donna gets home," says I.

We have an area in our backyard where the chooks are fenced in, it's a big fence. Inside that enclosure, they have a chicken coop. Our escapee was locked in the coop. About an hour and a half later, Donna came home and I told her what needed doing. In the mean time, our prisoner was making a lot of noise. I went downstairs and let her out and discovered she'd layed her first ever egg. Way to go NigNog, or Worcestershire, or whatever you call yourself, "Stormageddon", probably.

So. Problem sorted. The chooks have had their wings clipped. They won't escape now.

I went downstairs to check on them this evening and our escapee from this morning was hanging around the fence. I said hello, she looked up at me, got a bit agitated, then jumped up onto the top of the five foot high fence between us. She stayed there until Donna grabbed hold of her and gave her a cuddle. Stormaggedon my left cheek.

 I'm not sure if she's an escapee, or just loves us.