Dear Bunty,

I write this with a heavy heart because I have some difficult news. At least, it’s news to us, although you may perhaps be better informed. Indeed, ask any of my hens – the original four plus yourself and Bertha – and you may all be able to say, “Yes of course … what did YOU think, then?”

The fact is, Bunty, and it pains me to say it, but you’re almost certainly not a hen. By which I mean you’re probably a boy. We had absolutely no idea whatsoever until last Saturday, when you most definitely crowed. Not a noisy, wake-you-up-at-dawn yodel but none-the-less, a gentle, tentative crow. Certainly not a cluck.

We all heard it and at once Googled “how to sex chickens”. And then the pennies started dropping…

You know how we have always loved your big feet? How we have dragged every visitor to our house since August into the garden to marvel at your footspan and your long, strong legs? How we joked that your feet looked ostrich-size, not chicken-sized? How tall you looked next to the diminutive Bertha, but also when measured against our older, fully mature hens? And you just a baby, etc, etc? A mere 24 weeks old as I write today?

Well, there was more. Your comb, remember, was always much bigger than Bertha’s, and your wattles. With Bertha, we had to look to find it at first, it was practically not there, unlike yours. And just recently, your comb and wattles turned bright red and I rubbed my hands in glee and considered the possibility of your first egg… How foolish I feel now!

Then again, remember when you had just arrived and someone said you looked like a cockerel (they did say they were only teasing me though), and I had a quick look under your feathers and found your vent? It had never occurred to me that it might just be a bottom! I took that as proof you were a hen, and from then on your big feet and tall stature were just a source of amusement.

If you hadn’t crowed, Bunty I might not have twigged for weeks more… but Google searches also informed us that a cockerel has distinctive saddle and sickle feathers, as well as longer neck feathers. As you and Bertha have recently moulted your baby feathers, I thought it would be as well to check what was growing back… It hadn’t occurred to me to look closely before, because I was not expecting much of a change. But when we looked, last Saturday, following the crowing incident, it was immediately clear that the feathers on your saddle were long and slender, like willow leaves – very like the now more prolific and long neck feathers – and there is just the merest hint of a couple of more prominent sickle feathers in your lovely Orpington bustle…

The other hens seem to know that something is up. They still boss you around, and you still run away from them. But they look at you quizzically, as if not quite sure how to behave around you. You have also started to do that thing where you stand up tall and flap. I think that’s a boy thing too. And of course, you’re tentatively practising your crowing. There are other strange sounds too, that very deep throaty noise you made when you came indoors yesterday, perhaps because you didn’t know my visitor, and you felt a bit anxious.

Then there was the time recently when a cat appeared in the garden, and you got very vocal and warned me and the hens about it.

So – and here’s the worst bit, Bunty – if you’re going to be a boy, I can’t keep you here. It’s just impossible, as close to other houses as we are. Your first owner, the lady who hatched you, though shocked that she might have got it wrong, is happy to take you back. I don’t think she has any spare hens for you to live amongst, so you may need to get used to the bachelor life. I am so sorry. This has been such a difficult week. Every time I see you it makes me sad, because you are so sweet and friendly and you would have become something of a favourite, I am sure.

I don’t know how Bertha will cope without you, you two have been together since you hatched and it will be a terrible wrench for you both. I will keep an eye on Bertha and give her lots of extra treats and chats to try to make up. But Bunty, I won’t be able to keep an eye on you. I won’t know how you are coping away from the love of your life, Bertha. You follow her everywhere and if she looks distressed you are agitated until you can get to her. She is always OK – just a bit skittish and flighty – but you need to follow her round the garden like a loyal hound; even when she hops over the fence with grace and agility to see us humans, you have to follow her, big and cumbersome as you are… You are brave enough to come into the utility room when allowed, and would probably do this for as long as you could jump the fence, after that I imagine you would join the others in sitting wistfully near the back door on your side of the fence.

I will miss seeing the pair of you perched on our garden seat as if you owned it, looking into the kitchen windows and checking up on us all inside! You sit there for hours on the arm, preening yourselves and watching the world go by. The highlight of your day is when the back door opens and out comes a handful of mealworms, preferably the wriggly ones. It makes your wait worthwhile.

But Bunty, the longer we wait now, the more like a cockerel you will become, and the harder it will be both for us to say goodbye to you, and for you to adjust to a different home. So with sadness, Bunty, I have to take you back to your first owner very soon. I know she will look after you or find you a caring home, where you will be in much demand, and where your cockerel-ness will be properly appreciated and where your cock-a-doodle-doing won’t upset any neighbours.

So it’s soon going to be farewell, Bunty, and we will miss you. You have certainly made a big impression on us all.

It was a sad day today in our Mac-driven household to hear of the death of the iConic Steve Jobs.

Not only was our old henhouse sourced on a Mac but the amazing new one (the Hen Pad) was designed on one, using the latest in rotational animated plans which even included the ability to plot the direction of sunlight in your garden at precise times of the day and year, so that we could predict where the shadows would fall, say, 6months from now at 2.30 in the afternoon on a building that was not then even built.

All of my online hen pin-ups (the breeds on my ever-growing wishlist) have been sourced on a Mac, and much of my hen supplies are bought on one. My two rescued ex-batts were applied for and approved via my Mac and the constant support I received from www.exbatteryhens.com likewise. And of course, every chicken blog, poem or Tweet I have written has started out on a Mac.

So as a mark of respect my hens today invented a new App. Short, in this case, for “Appetite”, the hens did however demonstrate application in pursuit of their new game. It’s called “Hungry Birds” and it proved quite addictive.

In our version, 6 hens pit their wits against a large tin of dried mealworms, to see who can win the most points. No pigs were harmed (unlike the real app!) and no Hungry Birds were catapulted skywards, although Bouncy Bertha had been practising all day in case such skills were required.

The final score was: Entry levels won by Bunty and Bertha who scored 102 each in a team effort, as well as 9 bonus points won by spotting and eating the strange black insects that have hatched in the current sack of mealworms, much to the the hens’ delight.

As the game progressed, Bunty and Bertha were eliminated by Minty, who was then wiped out by Lily, though neither made much impact on the scoreboard. This was largely due to Florence (herself a somewhat “largely” bird) manoeuvring deftly into position over the mealworm tin, and in true Hungry Birds style, hogging it. Well, we had to have a nod to little pigs somewhere in the new game. Florence’s closing score was 327. At this point the tin was removed for health and safety reasons.

Sadly blown out of the water was Sumo, who failed to score any points at all, having not realised that mealworms were on offer and being far busier testing some delicious new berries that had just arrived hot-foot from the garden centre on a tasty new shrub.

So currently Florence holds the top score for round one of Hungry Birds. The next level will see the Hungry Birds doing more daredevil things such as jumping onto picnic benches or flying over the pond. Level 3 involves compost-bin manoeuvres and fighting invading starlings who attempt to alight on the mash hopper. Should any attempt to invade the seed trays, it’s death by beak.

So there you have it. We have lost a great, incisive, far-sighted visionary who in thinking out of the box, got everyone wanting a cube…. and then a pod and finally a pad.

…..And my hens, who are blessed with neither iNtellect nor iNsightfullness have invented a new game….Jobs well done.

But there’s a mighty gap at the top of the pecking order now…

Well I did it, having viewed some juvenile Orpingtons on Saturday there was NO WAY I was going to resist! At 12 weeks, they are a bit smaller than I am used to, but I decided not to let that deter me.

“I’ll take these two,” I found myself blurting out. A friend was also collecting hers, so the little flock was minus 6 by the time we had both filled our cat carriers!

“I think they’re about the same size as Lily,” said hubby, obviously deluded by scale. They are not the same size as Lily (Cream Legbar), still less as Florence (Welsummer), known fondly as Fatty Florence. In fact, they are smaller than any chickens I have owned, since I have not grown on any youngsters before. They appear as Lilliputians next to Florence, who if unzipped, could fit at least 3 into her volume!

You can loosely describe their colouring as Chocolate – Bunty has got a buff head and neck, with more chestnut and milk chocolate colouring elsewhere, whilst Bertha is much more chocolatey all over, with speckling. At present she looks exactly like a large baby robin, and almost became Robyn because of this.

They are living in temporary accommodation in the base of our Ark but this is not satisfactory and a plan has been hatched – more on this soon!

Meantime, they have settled in well and love their food. They have been introduced to the deliciousness of dried mealworms and fall over each other to get to them, their loose derriere feathers flapping violently like little brown bustles, heads down, bloomers up, keen eyes seeking out the treats.

The only problem is I can’t stop going into the garden to check on them!

Perhaps a hencam would be a good idea after all…!

Just been watching breakfast tv and suddenly we see, not humans as such, on the breakfast couch, but humans who LOOK like chickens! OK, I have yet to have my morning cup of tea, but despite obvious possible hallucinatory affects of dehydration, the resemblance is clear. So far we have had a wonderfully homely lady who was if not a Buff Orpington then at least a Buff Sussex, and now I have just spotted a magnificent Brahma…..what is going on today? Is it me, or is the whole world turning chicken?

It’s raining and the hens are looking glum. Their favourite spot close to the back door has become a muddy mess, and only the ever-hungry Light Sussex, Araminta, is still loitering there, waiting for the door to open and delicious Hen Treats to be deposited her way- a handful of mealworms, maybe, or some tomato and cucumber remnants.  The other hens are nowhere to be seen, which is surprising, given the petite size of our garden. Yet there are often times when I can’t see any hen anywhere at all, hidden as they are under the many shrubs and trees in their patch.

I’ve no doubt at all that hens like to get under cover. I have observed over my seven years of hen-keeping that they are not fans of big open spaces and  I often wonder why free range farms offer their hens just that – large expanses of grass and sky. No wonder many free range hens opt to stay inside, in the “safety” of their shed. Even in my small garden, this fear of open spaces is clearly demonstrated, when one hen will peer out from the shrubbery and sprint (in that gangly chicken way)  as quickly as she can, across the patio or the sandy patch where they like to scratch, to the safety of the shrubs beyond.

Mind you, that caution is not without good reason, since our garden is occasionally visited  by birds of prey, some of which have been terrifyingly big, and have scared even me! At these times the hens go deathly quiet, then quickly take cover and remain standing motionless for ages. They are terrified of the airborne predator, but fortunately for them, these aggressors are  usually hunting the smaller wild birds that also frequent the garden.

My hens are without doubt most at ease when tucked discreetly under a dense bush, or when “hanging out” by our back door – perfect because not only does it offer the safety of  the bushes, but also the protection of their Top Chook – me!

But what a pity this rain drives them further under the shrubbery- I am already missing those four alert little faces, beaks cocked, waiting for me to spoil them. Or rather, those three faces, since the  water-resistant Araminta will still be waiting for me, whatever the weather, as her tummy clock is permanently set to “lunchtime”.