The Young Ones

I've had an explosion of broody bantams this year. Most hide away in the garden with only an occasional scream to alert you as to where they are but few have the tenacity to actually go sit through to a hatch. Imagine my surprise when last summer's chick "Mohawk" (named by my friend Rose) turned up on a hot Saturday afternoon in late October with eight chicks in tow. I managed to coral them into a cage in my carport where they were safe from rats and my neighbour's psycho cat. Unfortunately the chicks weren't safe from their mother's big feet as she constantly stood on them. She managed to break the foot of one small gray chick when it was a week old. Not much that could be done but the little creature coped and would get in amongst the others despite its disability. Then Mohawk stood on two others when they were several weeks old but this time caused internal damage so they passed away. Now she's calming down and they babies are big enough to know to get from under their mother's feet!

I've been trying to get some of my angora girls in kit and finally Ivory from Ebony's first litter managed to get pregnant. Unfortunately she had her babies during the night on 5th October and scattered them over the floor of the cage instead of having them in the nest box so they all died before I could rescue them. I left her a few weeks until putting her back with Baldrick, my agouti buck, and kept an eye on her as she ballooned. On the evening of 8th December I was out at an awards ceremony for the Onga Onga Fire Brigade so didn't check her until 12.30am when she was starting to pluck herself and throw the fibre all over the cage floor again. This time I stayed up and went out at 1.30am to find she'd produced eight kits all of which were alive in a pile on the cage floor. I checked them over and put them into the nest box, covering them with fibre. Next morning they were all fed and warm Ivory finally getting the idea that the nest box was where they were meant to be.

The litter consisted of four white, two agouti, one blue and one black kit. However two of the white kits were small and at four days the smallest died during the night. The other died at ten days of age when the others were opening their eyes.

The others meanwhile blossomed and at two weeks were beginning to pop out of their nest box to try and hassle their Mum for milk. The blue was the ring leader for these sorties being very inquisitive.

Ivory has proved a wonderful first time Mum, very caring despite the rocky start. But I am feeling sorry for her now as she sometimes looks overwhelmed when several kits try to burrow under her for a sneaky feed. Especially as they're born with teeth. It's not easy being a Mum.

Lenin's Bedroom Adventure

Funny how a humble chook can bring a smile even during the darkest times. It's a week since my brother Richard died so I've been utterly miserable but even I managed a laugh the other afternoon when I came inside to find Lenin the fluffy gray rooster strutting round my bedroom. I assume he was wondering why my bed was on the floor but I have been rust treating and painting the wrought iron bedstead which is taking forever due to a combination of bee stings (insects are apparently attracted to the solvents in enamel paint) and terrible weather.

Of course Lenin had left a few little deposits which I assume were his commentary on the evils of capitalism. Every time I tried to shoo him out the room he left a few more little comments on the carpet. Finally I just let him do his thing and he strolled quite calmly out the front door.

Exploding Bantams

There's a bantam explosion over the past few months. Firstly Georgia the fluffy white hen walked out with two small chicks (one yellow one gray) before her daughter from last year nicknamed "Mohawk" by my friend Rose due to her feathery head arrangement produced a small black one which she raised conscientiously for a month before abandoning it. Three weeks ago Francesca the black bantam with delicate flecks of gold around her neck arrived with four offspring. A week later Georgia produced another two out of thin air (again a yellow one and a gray) and on the same day Gabriella came out with four black fluff balls although so far she has managed to lose two, one of which she sat on and squished. These are all housed in three separate cages in the carport as protection against wandering cats (mine). The cacophony of cheeping when it's meal time has to be heard to be believed. My hand bears the scars of Francesca's impatience when I don't hurry up.

In the meantime Georgia's first two offspring from this season were moved into "The Big House". Her little white son has morphed into quite a nice little bird who obediently trots inside every evening. Her gray daughter however has turned out to be a strumpet who hangs around with the three outside roosters and makes a complete show of herself. Obviously a fowl teenage delinquent.

In related news it is with a heavy heart I write of the sad demise of "Son Of Bovril" who has not appeared for two days. Well over ten years old this gentle little golden replica of his Dad was a hit with the hens due to his kind ways. Always willing to give up a worm for a good looking hen, never one to chase them down for some quick loving first thing in the morning. We will never see his like again.

The Miraculous Escaping Donkey

Briar has been on a diet since August. And she's not happy. She had been enjoying freedom in the company of some pet lambs in another paddock where she had stuffed her face to her heart's content but when I went to fetch her for a hoof trim I noticed that she was not so keen on walking back with me. It took me half an hour to move her fifty feet as she was so uncomfortable. She had, in a word, foundered. The farrier told me it was important she be fenced in a small area with limited access to food so I hauled out my electric fence unit which hadn't been used since early 1998 and did a crash course on learning how to work it.

Turned out I was an abject failure at mastering electric fence units. However a friend came round, actually read the instructions, and with a little effort it wasn't long until I was getting a few shocks. At first Briar was extremely pissed off. Before long I began feeling sorry for her so would allow her into my garden area for half an hour's grazing which worked well until I forgot to shut the driveway gate and she made a break for freedom. That saw me chasing one very fat gray ass down the road. Every time I seemed to near her she would kick up a gear and tear past me. Fortunately after a kilometre she developed sore feet and had to seek refuge on the side of the road where I trapped her by a gate, managing to get her halter on before she sped off again. As the road slopes slightly we had an even quicker trip home as by this time I was in a bit of a mood.


Then Briar developed magical powers. In the morning her enclosure would be devoid of donkey and I would go down the road to discover her ensconced in my landlord's parent's front paddock. On one occasion I roped in a friend to help me get her back- it took two of us a good half hour of pushing and pulling her across an incredibly bumpy field before we reached home. Another time it took three frail females, two hauling on her halter, me bringing up the rear pushing her enormous rear, to finally return her to what she now regarded as a prison. Finally though I discovered the secret of her escape method- she would just crawl underneath the electric fence tape not caring if she was zapped or not. The frequent sight of me dragging a reluctant fat donkey back along the road caused many a near accident as neighbouring farmers slowed down their utes in order to have a good laugh.

As a more svelte donkey emerged from beneath three saddlebags of fat so did her previous happy go lucky nature. If Briar managed to escape during the night she would always walk back when I went out first thing in the morning, squeezing under the electric fence tape in order to say hello. She also developed a quasi friendly relationship with Stig the goat. Although there would be a few kicks and bucks while he tried to headbutt her as she attempted to steal his food if I wasn't around they would happily sit near each other chewing the fat and cuds in mutual contentment.

The Phone Phobic Pooch

When you re home an older dog you automatically take on all their little foibles as well. Joey's previous owners had admitted that he had a slight phone phobia but that it just involved him running constantly from room to room while they were talking. I noticed this the first time someone called me. The phone ringing would stir him into action and he would trot around constantly with his mouth open until I hung up. Then I noticed that he would follow me to the sitting room and watch anxiously to see if I was going to use the phone. This soon developed into running and pushing into me with his front feet before scooting away while I was talking. Then he began barking at me constantly. I tried to make my being on the phone a pleasant experience for him. I bought rawhide treats and would produce them while I was talking so he could take his frustration out them instead of my legs but every so often he would still make a running jump at me. A friend gave me a plastic bottle of stones to shake at him when he barked at me but this just meant he would bark from a distance. In the end if I wanted peace and quiet I would have to put him on his lead which seemed to keep him calm.

But then Joey became sneaky. If the phone rang he would pull it off its holder and remove the handset, often carrying it out onto the lawn where it would be clawed at, scratched and bitten. I began hiding the phone up on an armchair beneath a cushion and a pile of laundry waiting to be ironed. On re-entering the room I'd discover the washing all over the floor and the handset mauled. Not only the phone was at risk but anything sitting nearby which is how a DVD cover and DVD remote control lost their lives.

I was forced to shut the sitting room door whenever I went outside to prevent Joey's phone abuse. But my memory is not as good as it used to be and I would occasionally forget to take precautions which is how my dear black cordless phone had its antennae bitten off. However it still worked.... for a time. Then I forgot the door again and found the handset's corpse proudly laid in state on the dining room carpet. I hauled out the old white cord phone thinking this would be ignored. Within two days the cord was severed in an act of callous and unwarranted violence. I was forced to use a very old Telecom phone that would only work if I plugged it into a jack near the back door which forced me to make all my calls sitting by the kitty litter trays.

I now have a new $4 phone from Trademe. It sits on top of the mantelpiece and instead of ringing it plays Paganini's Variations on a Theme. I don't know what happened to Joey as a young dog that caused his extremely hatred of phones. I only know that any telephone in this house is in mortal danger and that talking to my friends is no longer a joy but is seen as an act of war by a hairy pooch with a phobia.