Egg-hunter

Our hens are a moveable feast. We move their coop, and a large stretch of electric fencing around the garden for a change of scenery every week or so.

Smokey - #1 in the pecking order - has, in recent months, shown utter disdain for the power of electricity. She lays her eggs at about 11 am most days and her preferred nest is anywhere other than the straw-lined nesting boxes provided. Thus the strutting and noises of disgust from 9 am onwards. She began by flying up on to the perch provided outside the hutch and then squawking in awkward flight over the fence. Clipped wings didn't prevent similar attempts, but did increase the abuse she dished out to anyone who happened to pass. Undeterred, she decided to walk on through the fencing, which basically involves treading it down and then hopping over. Her feathered comrades find the mild electric current off-putting. Not Smokey. She is after all, No.1, and one of the Sisters of Doom (a frightening partnership, of which more another time).

Nesting places have included the lavender bushes, underneath the rosemary/honeysuckle confusion, right in the middle of the sweet-pea teepee, in the dogs' shed (behind some wooden planks). Several different hideouts have been found in amongst the weeds - plenty to choose from - eggs have nestled right beside the road under the protection of an over enthusiastic elder and in the comfort of some grass clippings. The large bin in which the hen food is kept has been found to shelter in its lee a number of her eggs. The secret, we thought, was once we found the latest nesting place, to leave at least one egg; if this is done she returns, if not, she knows she's been rumbled and moves on.

Enter the dog. Never acclaimed for her wisdom, the elderly labrador is none-the-less an expert mouser and will happily spend many hours sitting by a mouse-hole anticipating the moment the small rodent might emerge. She meets with some degree of success in this method. She has also been watching us watching Smokey. The hen crows with delight at having laid an egg, a member of the family rushes out to spot the nesting place (but the hen isn't stupid, she wanders away from the site before letting rip), and retrieves an egg. Clearly, this stomach on legs that is our dog decided she wanted a piece of the action. She lies on the grass and observes, is up and off and searching before Smokey has so much as squeaked, and finds the egg before any human is aware that one has been laid. Scolding has no effect whatsoever, nothing can come between a dog and her morning snack. So, I'm about to continue with editing, with windows and door wide open (have to be careful there as Smokey will happily wander in and help herself to the small dog's food), with half an eye flitting to the window in case a yellow coloured hunter should pass by.