Runaway Chickens and Enthusiastic Builders

Every day here seems to bring a new adventure. This morning we were proudly presented with three chickens by one of our lovely neighbours.  Excited to welcome real livestock to our small homestead, we wasted no time introducing them to our plot.  Things began amicably enough, a semblance of ‘Pippy Longstocking’s’ farm (or was it Katie?) Anyway, the birds seemed happy enough scuttling around the garden, that was until one of our cats arrived on the scene.  

Cat amongst the chickens

We had learned already, after a trip to the vets with a very poorly cat, that our English variety is much larger than the indigenous Bulgarian ‘kodka’.  Referring to our cat as a ‘lion’, the vet had a real problem attempting to pin him down to administer anaesthesia.  The same principle was now visibly true of Bulgarian chickens – seemingly much smaller than their English counterparts.  That is if real counterparts even existed in England.  

Speaking to an English friend recently who was interested in animal husbandry, I learned the sad truth that many English battery chickens have been bred to be killed within a few short months.  Trying to keep them any longer was impossible he said; their poor legs were unable to carry their hormone enlarged bodies.  No wonder, then, that these birds were much smaller than I had envisaged.  Regardless, we had one very large cat and three incongruously small chickens.

The birds take flight

Did you know that chickens could fly?  Again, our naive English mentality, a failure to understand the ‘link between the dinner plate and the farmyard’, as Mayle describes it, left us speechless.  Thankfully, all three took flight to avoid the cat. The neighbour who had given us the birds kindly retrieved them for us.  In desperation, we re-housed them in the old donkey shed at the bottom of the garden as a temporary measure.

Temporary accommodation

Embarking on an unplanned crash internet course in caring for poultry, and learning that basically ‘anything goes’ regarding food at least; we launched with gusto into building a chicken run.  Five hours and many splinters later, the run was ready.  With great pride we entered the donkey shed to bring out the frightened birds and introduce them to their day time abode.  They were having none of it! Once again the birds took flight. This time, one of them found her way back home; one ascended the barn of a nearby empty property, and one took off down the road into the village.

 Serendipitously, our neighbour’s daughter was on her way home from school. Seeing our plight she unceremoniously hurled her shoes into the air and took off after the chicken with intent.  Darting from side to side in a crazy zig zag motion, each time the chicken changed direction, she pursued her relentlessly, only to eventually lose her in a vacant plot of waist high nettles.

We decided, with hindsight, that four cats and five dogs did not make for a happy environment for feathered friends, and determined to re-experiment with the venture when we had been able to wall off a section of the garden.  Before we could do that, however, we needed to build a wood shed to house our imminent haul of fuel for the pending winter storms.

Untrained builders

Jeff returned to this previous exploit after the excitement of the chickens had subsided, only to be joined by the same neighbour who had presented us with the chickens. This time he was joined by an even more inquisitive friend.  Both men had a lot to say about Jeff’s project. Before we could make sense of what they were saying, however, they had mounted the ladder and began to enthusiastically hammer away. This was despite Jeff’s obvious distress. Having spent his entire working life in the building industry, he is very precise! Their efforts meant, however, that the roof was finished by tea time – a fact of which we were very appreciative.  No payment was accepted ‘preeatel’ we were assured, ‘we do not take money from friends’.