Putting the Tree in Poultry & Petrified

So, yesterday I bought Mrs Brahma a Black Rock to keep her company. Harry had a whale of a time on the swings at the farm park, and the owners, whom I know through work, gave him a super-cool pair of boots that their grandson had, with toddler capriciousness, firmly refused to put on his feet, ever. When I turfed the newcomer into the run, I felt that it must be a big improvement on her hen pen back at the park. In short, a good morning for everyone. 

When John appeared in the doorway at hen bed-time to report that Mrs B was perched in solitary splendour with the new girl nowhere to be seen, I was a tad miffed, so I marched him back outside for another prod about. Looking for a black hen in dark undergrowth with one feeble torch between us got boring after a (short) while, so the spaniel was summoned and told to Do His Stuff. Tebbit is usually excellent at finding (and munching, if intervention does not take place) poultry, but he drew a total blank, which puzzled us. Mrs Black was left to take her chances with foxy and I mentally wrote off the £12.bloody50p. My chagrin at the Hairy Farmer Family accelerated poultry turnover-rate returned.

Turns out we were looking in the wrong direction entirely. When John let Mrs B out early this morning, he reported hearing clucking, the location of which he could not quite identify. When he returned at 9.30am for breakfast, the source of the sound became more apparent. 

Yep. 15ft up in the ash tree. God alone knows how she got up there. Tebbit’s nose was exonerated, but my doubts about Mrs Brahma’s disposition have deepened. 15ft is a long way for a hen to ascend when there’s a perfectly pleasant and spacious hen-house on offer.

Mrs B, in addition to being a suspiciously serial widow, is evidently also a total be-atch.

7 Responses

  1. We had ducks that did that. We’d carefully herd them all into the poultry enclosure at dusk, only to find them all up the walnut tree next morning, looking smug.

    Oh, and Ivan the Terrible, our psychotic bantam cock, he would hide up trees all the better to perform his V2-Rocket-of-Razor-Clawed-Death stunt on whichever poor unfortunate mortal was landed with chicken-feeding duty that day.

    Mrs B is seriously expressing her inner Baby Jane, isn’t she?

  2. I can hear Mrs Brahma saying, “No wire henhouses!” a la Mommie Dearest. Evil doth lurk.

    Maybe get rid of her and start anew with a more willing hen? You could sell her as a “rooster deterrent. 🙂

  3. Makes one wonder just what goes on when the human back is turned!


  4. this is hilarious, your bitchy hen is cracking me up!!

  5. That hen’s got an attitude problem, obviously. Perhaps she needs therapy. I’m also concerned that she could be a sociopath.

  6. I have a very elderly relative many many times remove who lives near the family homestead who will take a ill chicken into the house during the day, care for it and then return it to the comforts of the henhouse at night. We recently visited to discover a horrific bruise and wound on her leg that appeared to be many days old. Upon questioning she told the story of caring for a favorite hen who was ill (Old age?), carrying to the hen house, tripping over another hen and landing on her hip and leg where she lay for several hours while it began to snow. She knew she had cracked some ribs and was uncertain of the other damage, so waiting to see if her son came by, as he lived across the road and is a frequent visitor. It starts to get dark, her leg is bleeding through her pants, still no son, so she crawls to the house, about 30 feet away. She refused to go to the doctor, wrapped her own cracked ribs, doctored this 6 inch gash in her leg that eventually took 4 months to heal but to her the worst of it was when she told us this with tears in her eyes “The worst part was that when I fell I killed my hen by falling on her. I just feel terrible.”
    God love her, at 90 we should love, care and worry about our animal so much! This hen could no longer walk, so she took the poor thing into the house during the day to protect it. So if you need a refuge for any hen, bitchy or otherwise, I have the place for you. We will just have to make sure she doesn’t carry then around.

  7. […] massacred apart from my original Brahma hen (a clever old girl whom I noted had gone to ground to hide somewhere during Friday’s […]

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