I knew it would happen. So this morning, I got a coop ready. This afternoon, Wince came to collect his wages and, after a few minutes’ conversation, casually mentioned the mother hen and chicks on the lawn. I jumped up to look at once, of course, but they’d vanished. Wince, Stevo and I hunted for quite some time and, in the end, we came to our senses and realised they couldn’t have gone far. We’d all looked under the summerhouse, but Stevo looked again and finally spotted her. So I reached underneath, at arm’s length, and managed to catch them, one at a time. The last was newly hatched and still quite bedraggled. I put them on the lawn, some of them (the little one was kept warm inside my teeshirt) in the hope that their cheeping would entice Mummy out, but no luck. So Wince took my walking stick (it’s a chicken herding tool, not a walking aid) and managed to move her a few inches until I could grab her and bring her out.
All eight babies and their mother are in the coop with food and water – I went to the pet shop for chick crumbs. Although very pleased that she is alive, I’m a bit daunted by the thought of bringing up babies, at my time of life. I seem not to be able to make my own choices and I’m finding it oppressive. On the other hand, chicks are cute. Here is one of them.
The others are tucked under Mum.
I’ve made a list of outside jobs to be done this summer.