Books, Mud and Compost. And Horses.

It would appear from this that yes, they can. If there is something in it for them, of course. I like the way Hester has trained her owner.  Hester advances quickly enough not to discourage her owner, but still slowly enough to allow time to dig in to worms along the way. Nicely done, Hester.

I've put off getting new hens for months; mainly because neither of us could face the thought of more months trying to prevent our Black Rocks, who are the Al Capones of the hen world, making determined efforts to keep the hen population at what they considered an acceptable level: them, and their hench hen.  Last time we got new hens it took months of keeping the hens separately, Black Rocks patrolling the dividing fence like sharks hoping for seals, before peace finally broke out. It's not as if our hens lack space.  Here is the hen area at Badger Towers, all surrounded by electric fence.  They have a large bramble hedge that they spend hours and hours in.  "What do they do  in there?" I asked my husband.  "Just chill, like teenagers," he said.  I think that's pretty much it, though now it is blackberry time, they do make the occasional foray out to snaffle any blackberries which have ripened since the last time they looked.  Or have a sandb...

Yesterday my hens had a new experience.  A friend has a lot of hens, and two of her cockerels had attacked each other and had to be separated.  I will take one, I said.  Although it might be a short visit, because my Black Rocks are terrible thugs. The theory behind having Mr Cockerel was that he would keep the girls in check, so that when I get my late Christmas present hens (hopefully next week) I will not have to spend months keeping them separate so that the Black Rocks do not try to kill them.  My original plan was to put Mr C in the stable and keep him shut in until night and then bung him in with the girls.  I warned my neighbour we had him, and trotted off back to work in my nice thick stone walled house, well insulated from sound.  A couple of hours later I went out into the garden, and there, floating effortlessly over the couple of hundred yards between him and me was Mr C, cockadoodling.  Every 10 seconds.  After frantic consultation...

Although we don't have the snow other parts of the UK do, we have some pretty spectacular frost.   Until I came to let the junior hens out of their house this morning, I hadn't spotted the cobwebs festooning it.  The senior hens live in the stable, as they were so violent when the juniors came on the scene they had to be separated.  All is now reasonably harmonious, but the hens have maintained their separate sleeping arrangements. Junior hen Echo was less than impressed with the snow, but seems positively perky about the frost. There was the most amazing damask pattern on the concrete slabs outside the stable - a week or so ago I'd washed it down, which had left a thin veil of mud, which has turned into what could be some splendid fabric design. It's all really rather beautiful.

None of these are mine; the bantam family and irises both belong to a friend. There are seven babies, and they are all seriously cute. The irises belong to the same friend. This is just a small selection.

wear open toed sandals and purple nail varnish when you're doing the hens. They think your toes are blackberries.

I've been a bit absent lately, having gone down with another episode of my inner ear disorder, which means I am literally prostrate as I can't get up without falling down again. All this happened just as I was doing an interview on the Silver Bridle series with Caroline Akrill, getting my next catalogue ready, and dealing with a fox attack on the hens. We are, alas, four hens down. One died of shock in the night, and the other three are missing presumed eaten. I had hoped, as I had found no bantam feathers, that the bantams had survived, but unless they've found another home somewhere, I fear the worst. Three hens were completely unscathed, one had a few feathers missing, and poor Scrabbles was in a state, and needed nursing. Fortunately she is now on the mend, and has re-joined the rest. I am on the mend too, and the Caroline interview should be finished next week, barring anything else happening which I don't expect. The new catalogue is now online, and you can fin...

A couple of weeks ago I went out to buy feed at Dodson and Horrell. When I drove up, what should they have but a poultry event. I couldn't of course, walk by the hens and ducks on display without having a jolly good look, but I was strong. I didn't buy anything. Then. But I went back the next day and bought myself an early birthday present: two point of lay Black Rocks. They are hardy hybrids who are supposed to be able to cope with cold, and bearing in mind our field is always windy, and in winter is positively Arctic, they seemed a sensible choice. I got them home and fetched daughter to name one (had already decided on the drive back that one would be Black Bess - she's below). The hens erupted out of the carrier into the stable, and Miranda promptly named the other one Tiger. And what a prophetic name that was. Poor Scrabbles, my head hen, has been demoted. Tiger is now top of the pecking order. She's more likely to jump on the others that stop fights, b...

Well, they're not at the moment, but if Defra has its clunking way they soon will be. I was reading The Times last night and lurking in the news found the nugget that Defra are proposing "that anyone owning a cow, pig, sheep or chicken will... have to pay compulsory insurance to cover costs in case of an outbreak of disease , and be forced to pay a separate levy to cover the costs of disease research and surveillance." My heart beyond sank when I read this. I already have huge wodges of forms to wade through each year to claim our payment for our land, and I simply cannot believe that this new effort will not cost more to collect than it will raise. It will of course need a new computer system (and we all know how wonderfully well the government does with those - the new health service system , anyone? Has there actually been even one computer system the Government's commissioned that has not cost at least double what it was originally supposed to?) One of th...

Had a bit of a shock yesterday afternoon when I went to give the hens their corn (they get this an hour or two before bedtime). Pandora, the Sussex, emerged from the stable with the remains of soft-shelled eggs hanging down, and a prolapsed oviduct . What, my husband asked later, did I do? First I went and fetched a helpful child. Then I fetched another helpful but less squeamish child - son, who did an excellent job of holding and soothing hen. He really is very good with animals. Just think, I muttered, as I cleaned Pandora's back end up, how this will sound at medical school interviews, for son wants to be a doctor. Son replied that he didn't quite see his future in terms of hens. I managed to remove the remains of the egg, at which point the prolapse went back of its own accord but today poor Pandora is still not quite the thing. She is isolated from the others in a darkened stable, and is drinking but not eating more than a peck or too. Fingers crossed. I'l...

The new hens still don't really have the going-to-bed bit sussed. Pre new-hen, shutting the hens up was a breeze. Popped up to put out corn while it was still light, and then popped up again an hour later; hens on the perch in a Matilda-between-the-bantams sandwich; bolt stable doors and that was that. Not any more. OH built the new hens their own special perch, which, for a couple of nights they went on. Then Scrabbles, for some reason best known unto only herself, decided that any hen who joined her must be immediately barged off. The three originals found all this most amusing, until the others started joining them on their perch. Several times I went up to shut the hens up, to find our three waiting for me in a corner of the stable, from where they would shoot out when I appeared, bobbing about with their heads stretching up and down in that henny way which means there's something they really want you to know about. When I looked, their perch was occupied. So, I ...

Overslept today, so took dog for a bit of retrieval work in the field. A bleak and foggy day, but beautiful, and accompanied by the clangs from the graveyard next to us, as the gravediggers dug June Wilby's grave. She was buried this morning. Her grand daugher wrote the most beautiful poem for her. She was a lovely lady: one of those who was genuinely interested in everyone she talked to. I always felt better after I'd talked to her, even if we'd just said the most commonplace things. I managed to shoot back up to the field after dog had finished retrieving (she loves it but we still don't have the giving it back bit sussed yet, to put it mildly) and photograph before the frost went. The old guard hens do not mind the frost. The only weather that makes them reluctant to get out of bed is rainy wind. The new bods don't quite feel the same. They're not quite used to the change in temperature or the increase in wind. The ho...