Season Shift

There's always a point in late summer where the season slightly shifts from broiling sticky weather to cooler nights. This week we had one sultry 30oC day but then a cold snap swept up the country one evening and suddenly the nights are very cool. Looking out my front window I notice the leaves on the poplar trees are beginning to turn gold. Where did the summer go?

Cordelia is still stubbornly sitting on her exploding eggs. I deliberately left her perched on these eggy landmines until I was able to source some more fertile ones. Luckily someone who lives in my area is dropping off some Wyandotte bantam eggs this lunchtime so I will encourage Cordy out with some mash and put clean paper and hay in the sleeping compartment with the new arrivals. The breeder says if she abandons them not to worry as she has a breeding pair she doesn't want. I am hopeful Cordelia will have more success at hatching this lot as she no longer has the other hens trying to lay their eggs in with her which may have affected the Barnevelders. She is so determinedly broody I have to give her another chance.

It occurred to me once that I concentrate so much on the love lives of my animals (finding fertile eggs, mating rabbits, trying to get the donkey pregnant two years ago) that I can now add pet pimp to my CV.

The Eggs and I

The Cordelia situation has become a bit of a farce. I went into her nest box yesterday and discovered another pulverized chick beneath her. I am now of the opinion that she hasn't stood on them at all but that the shell has broken, exposing dead chicks. This one was white so it looks like the shaver eggs had been fertile after all.

I cleared out any dirty eggs that were obviously not going to hatch and threw out the nest box. I've made her an alternative nest with fresh hay and she's comfortably ensconced on this with her remaining eggs. I will give her a couple more days and then throw the rest out as I have a nasty feeling they're not going to amount to anything.

When eggs fail to hatch you have to ask why. Cordelia has done a great job incubating them so either the roosters weren't firing on all cylinders or the eggs somehow got cold which seems unlikely. This is also the tail end (scuse the pun) of the chicken breeding season here in New Zealand as it will soon be autumn so perhaps this was also a factor. Whatever the reason it has been an immensely disappointing exercise.

Piper spent three days away before returning Friday morning. She wasn't very hungry and disappeared Saturday but turned up again on Sunday spending all her time asleep in a patch of grass near the rabbitry. If only Angel would come home now my mind would settle.

Disappearing Cats and Non Appearing Chicks

Angel still has not returned from her wanderings after seven weeks. The longest time she has disappeared has been nine and that was this time last year. Last week Piper cat went away for a couple of days and when she returned was especially clingly and wanting to sit on my knee all the time. Poor girl is cosmetically challenged but has a sweet nature and gets on with all the other cats. This behaviour is so unlike her but I guess the call of the baby wild rabbit season is upon her.

Cordelia's first Barnevelder egg hatched yesterday but by the time I got there it was dead. Either it died in the massive attempt to break through the shell as it was still wet or else she stood on it as her great clod hopping foot was placed neatly on its neck. None of the other eggs look like hatching which is incredibly disappointing. The whole exercise of John bringing the eggs out here may have been a waste of time.

Mother bantam and her chick have finally got used to sleeping in the hen house and I don't have to do my poor impression of a sheepdog each evening. Unfortunately the plum tree is still dropping windfalls so many of the bantams are stuffed to the gunalls and don't think they need to go into their house at night. I am afflicted with roosters and small hens wandering where they want, making a mess and a racket.

Bloody White Bastard is my oldest rooster at age ten but has lost his status as top man and been thrown out of the shed by the hens. He spends most of his day picking around the lawn and crowing, perhaps remembering better days when he was cock of the walk and an object of fear and loathing amongst the poultry population. How the mighty have fallen!

Roundup

The day before yesterday mother hen decided to fly out of the hutch where she was living with her baby in order to raid the windfall plums that have fallen on the lawn. Poor chick had no idea how to follow her so spent most of the day running up and down the cage terrible upset. However in the evening when I looked out mother had hopped back in with her offspring.

So yesterday I decided that since I was going to put them both in the hen house soon I would let them out for the afternoon. Worked a treat until the evening when I noticed that although the mother had hopped back in the baby was just running round and round the cage. Chickens could never be considered one of the brightest lights on the Christmas tree and this one seemed determined to live up to their reputation. However it made up for it's stupidity by being very very fast. Well that's what I found when I tried to catch the silly bird.

In the end I tipped the hutch on its side hoping that the bird would walk in and join its mother. Instead the mother flew out in a panic and I spent the next half hour chasing the pair of them round the front lawn. At a couple of points I nearly had them herded into the hutch but just as they were about to go in they would panic and run away into the garden. I am not a great sheepdog and became increasingly frustrated as they became increasingly obtuse. However in the end the chick tired and I was able to corner it and put it back in the cage. I tipped the hutch back over and then left them alone so that the hen would join her baby on her own. This accomplished I waited until it was nearly dark and then picked the pair up from their sleeping quarters and took them into the hen house.

But my night wasn't finished. It had been a hot day of 29oC and the two youngest cats decided playtime in the paddocks was called for. I managed to get Peach in at 9pm but Gypsy was harder to encourage into the cottage. I went into the paddock and nearly had my hand on her when she scooted further away in the dry grass. Every time I approached she would frisk away thinking it was all a big game.

Leaving her to cool down I came back inside and returned with a torch fifteen minutes later. By this time the landlord had let his sheepdogs out for their last run of the day and they chased Gypsy up a tree in my backyard. Trying to find my way amongst fallen branches and soft earth in the dark was not easy and when I managed to get to the tree Gypsy was perched on she scooted higher up into the branches before heading off back into the paddock. I shone the torch onto her as she went further and further out before giving up and coming back inside at 9.30pm. Gypsy finally came in with a despairing wail at 2am. It was not a restful night........

As I write this she is curled up asleep on my knee with not a care whereas I'm the one on painkillers trying to recover from the last roundup. Usually I don't have many problems getting the cats inside and was racking my brains trying to work it all out when I looked out the window and saw a large full moon. That explains everything about Gypsy's wild witchy mood. So note to self- in future shut certain small black cats in early on full moon evenings.