Taking Free Range too literally

In my estimation, chickens are without doubt the dumbest of God's creatures. Nonetheless, we love them and go to extraordinary lengths to make them comfortable. We think they have feelings. Although we know they are dumb, we can't believe there isn't just the teansiest bit of sense in their little heads. But time and again we are proved wrong.

Take, for instance, the interpretation of Free Range adopted by some of our flock. The new Hen House in the orchard is surrounded by the best, freshest and most varied pecking on the entire estate. To protect the delightful inhabitants from predators - and the occasionally passing Spaniel - we have enclosed a considerable portion of the orchard around the House with a (used-to-be) electric poultry fence. You'd think the little dears would be content with all that space inside the fencing. Think again. This is Conchita under the beech hedge; if you look closely you can just make out the fence behind her. From this angle, it should be in front of her. At least she's on home territory: a number of her colleagues decided to go and investigate the farmer's field on the other side of the other hedge..... One of them, Conchita's fluffy grey daughter from last summer who had recently been brought across to this, the best place for chickens on the whole estate, was retrieved by the Bestest Gundog in All the World - who, unfortunately, cannot (yet) distinguish between pheasant runners which he must at all costs catch and chicken runners which he must under no circumstance catch. (Clearly this is a lesson to which we could quite usefully turn our attentions during the summer months!). Net result: said fluffy grey hen is now recuperating in the cage in the haybarn which Conchita herself occupied when she had the mysterious wound under her wing. Luckily Fluffy Grey was only slightly scratched and shaken and is mending nicely.

Which is more than can be said for Jumping Black Flash. She was a black Leghorn. On a stupidity scale of 1 to 10, where 'normal' chickens are 10 and Bantams are minus 10, Leghorns are minus 20. JBF proved this in spades. She and her sister were moved from the Poultry Palace to Mr White's flock in the corner of the Church field a few days ago. At this point in time there is more grass inside their area than in the whole of the 5 acre Church Field. So what do they do? After familiarising themselves with Mr White and his domain for the first 24 hrs, they spent the next 48 hopping over the fence and exploring the wider world, including chatting to their old mates in the Poultry Palace pen about their new home. Several times I scooped them up and put them back within the safety of the fencing. More times they hopped out again, or just jumped up onto the fencing rails. Eventually one of them got the message and decided it was probably simpler to stay on the right side of the fence. But the JBF decided she liked snowdrops better, despite Mr White and her sister trying their hardest to persuade her otherwise.

Unfortunately, her pig-headedness got her into trouble. The Big Boss was watching Rugby at feeding time yesterday so I had the dubious pleasure of feeding all the piggies. Whilst engaged in this onerous task I suddenly became aware that my shadow (aka The Bestest Gundog etc etc) had 'disappeared'... When he didn't quickly return to call, I suspected something was wrong and went in search..... only to find him desperately trying to bring me Jumping Black Flash, who, stooopid to the end, was squawking and flapping and trying to beat her way free. He, naturally, was equally determined not to drop her whilst he dutifully brought her over to me..... by the time he achieved this she was quite exhausted and gasping and, I am sorry to say, died of shock just a little while later. Poor silly thing.

And then just a little while later, there was her stupid sister on the wrong side of the fence again. But this time I was closer to hand when Gunner decided to collect her for me; as soon as he reached her I ordered him to 'sit' and 'leave' (several times and increasingly loudly); which he did, and I managed to scoop her up and return her to Mr White.

Perhaps the gundog will learn to distinguish between pheasants and chickens? Perhaps the chickens will learn to distinguish safe from not-so-safe?

Time will tell.