Sadly, Anthony Quail is no longer with us. She (as it turned out) was playing in the garden at his fosterers. And then she wasn't. All anyone could find were a few feathers ... pointing in the direction (if feathers can point) of a passing Sparrowhawk. Oh well.
Chicken Dinner, my gorgeous, lovely cockerel has now left us and gone to live in Winchcombe where a mixed flock of chickens and bantams were in need of a fine fellow to look after them. Step up, Chicken Dinner. He's been declared "Soooooooo gorgeous" by his new owner and incredibly tame. This is because he was too much of a twat to dance out of range like the girls did when it looked like I was threatening to try and pick them up. No, instead he got all defensive and cocky and danced into range ... and got scooped up for undignified cuddling. Ha! Anyway, it's good to hear he's settled in well and is much admired. But then there's much to admire about a boy who looks like this:
In a happier vein, Amelia Nugget's foster chick continues to do well and is growning up to be a very big girl (yes, she too has turned out to be a she. Hurrah!). She's gone from this:
At a day old. To this at three weeks old:
At five weeks, and still looking like an as cute as a button fluff ball of a chick:
To being nine weeks old and almost fully into her adult plumage:
Amelia Nugget has been a splendid mother and finally got herself back into laying condition a couple of weeks back, so we've had a good supply of bantam eggs. Until today, when she's holed up in the nest box refusing to move. She and I are going to have to have words tomorrow. I can't cope with another eight weeks of broody chicken-ness again. One things for certain though, there'll be no more hatchings going on!
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