Lotta’s chicks are now a week old.
Today the small fluffy balls are sporting the tiniest tail possible. But it's a
tail, they tell me. They already have wings so it looks like someone glued feathers
on to a dust ball. Their legs are a rubbery sort of bright yellow and they have
minuscule claws. It's all so small but perfect that it looks unnatural, in a
way. Little Eric was tiny as well but as he was black, fluffy and green legged
he seemed stronger, somehow. Eric had his fathers build anyway, so he grew
faster than lightning into a magnificent youth.
The chicks go under working names as I
learned my mistake and we have to wait and see. One of them is a day older and
almost certainly a boy. He will be called Matti, a Finnish version of Matt.
The little ones will not go hungry.
The baby-chick food comes in 25 kg bags, so there is enough for a few days.
Someone thought long and hard of that little earner.... We live in hope that
our neighbour's hens will get some small ones, as we can keep them in food, too.
Our teenage hens looked on the sack of dry food with scorn, telling me that
they are too old for that stuff. Monty will help out, though. He's a walking
compost, bless him.
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| Credit: Dasha Dimitrova |
On day three of the glory of
motherhood I asked Lotta if she had plans to pop out into the sunny yard for a
while. I have never seen a hen move so fast. Chicks running behind, calling for
her to wait up but Lotta was on a mission. I had to help the fluff balls over
the stable threshold and then they found their mother, bathing in the sand,
dust flying everywhere. Three weeks of more or less indoor life had made her
long for a sand bath and fresh, dusty air, apparently. I had my work cut out,
keeping our lovely sheep away. They so love a little chick or two... They smell
nice, apparently and they sound so funny. Molly got too close one day and Lotta
lost her nerves and attacked her. Poor Molly panicked, and started hopping
madly almost stepping on one chick. You would hop, though, with a mad hen
pecking at your face. Luckily I was there so I could pick up our tiny friends
and carry them to safety. All Molly wanted to do was to say
"Hello"....,
Otherwise Lotta's approach to
motherhood is more laid back than Pippi's was, last year. Lotta bobs about,
telling me how hard it would be, if she did not have a cleaner, a cook and a
handyman around the place. Her nanny is important too but at least her chick's
can manage the threshold on their own, now. I have not had the heart to tell
our long suffering mother that she only has me and dear husband sorting out all
that needs doing.
(Her handyman is a bit tired at the
moment. He works nights, most days and takes part in a summer theatre production. Dear husband has the role of a charming collector of women and does
it very well. This plus everyday life has given him a slightly rugged look...
His mantra seems to be " We'll rest in July...")
At least Lotta lets us help out. Last
year Pippi behaved like a manic woodpecker, if you went too close to her little
Eric. It's a wonder he turned out so nicely with her stressing about the place.
Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My has chosen
to ignore Lotta’s threatening behaviour and have started their own nanny service
for the little bundles. Yet again they squint away, following the little ones
around the place. I find it helpful as they keep other birds away. The magpies
are curious and we do have birds of pray around our yard, from time to time.
This was the first night that everyone
slept soundly in their own beds, in the stable. We closed the door on the
little family for the first week, shutting the rest of the hens out of the hen
house. It did not go down well with poor, tired Monty, who loves his own bed.
Still, you never know how the rest of the gang will react to new members of the
family so it’s better not to take it too lightly on the safety issue. This
morning Monty had a spring in his step and Lotta and her chicks were the first
ones at the door, ready for a new day of adventures. Fingers crossed...
I wrote this little text while my
table snored peacefully, dreaming of bears, hares and whatnots. Mr. Chip knows that today is Midsummer's
Eve, a day for celebrating and strawberry, cream cake. In order to have energy
for all the eating, you have to sleep in and get energised. He is the sweetest
dog and cute as a button, when he sleeps. Mr. Chip looks like a toy dog - loved
and hugged to the point of scruffiness. He is very dear to us but we know he's
winding down... It's a funny old life, new beginnings and slow farewells. You
just have to hope the goodbyes take a long, long time and to enjoy what you
have. And not to mind that the old dog in you bed do smell a bit.
That was the month of June gone, time
flies in the summer..... Happy midsummer to you all!
The grass snake is back. It needs a
place warm enough to hatch the eggs in (21-28 degrees) and therefore loves a
good manure heap. I had high hopes of seeing this lovely snake again after many
years of absence and last week I saw them. They can have up to 40 little
ones... Lovely!
Text by Nina
Next blog on the 10th July
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