One Flew Over the Chicken's Nest
                                             

Sitting out on the top deck, shoes off and feet hanging over the hammock I was nose deep in a book when I was aware that the noise from the chickens was getting louder. Peering over the top I spied Buck Buckey waddling up the wooden path and following her lead the others hurrying along behind, like a group of washer women. They braved the step up to the top deck where they found my dangling feet and took a fancy to my toes. Trying not to scare them I moved my feet out of the way before they had a chance to peck at them so they moved onto the steamer chair by the side of me.

Unfortunately for them the foot rest was not only smooth but slightly curved at the end so every time one of the chicks hopped onto the foot rest they found themselves sliding off it. Each took it in turn to hop up on the chair only to find themselves sliding off again. As cute as it was to watch it proved too much for them and Pom Pom, freaked at the whole ordeal took flight which seemed to confuse the others and before she knew what she was doing Shakira was airborne for no more than three seconds before crash landing smack in the middle of a prized bush.

All hell was breaking loose with chickens hurling themselves into the air, like fluffy helicopters taking off. They seemed to fly straight up, bemused as to what they were doing and how they had got two foot above solid ground. There was a cacophony of squawks and a flurry of wings which would have been amusing had it not been so chaotic.

 
 
 
                                             
They were like fat ballerinas with no sense of rhythm, pirouetting in mid air. Blind with panic, Coco took off and ended up on the wall between our garden and the neighbour's. That worried me as the neighbours have an inquisitive dog who is an unknown quantity when it comes to chickens. I held my breath and decided that the best course of action was to not scare Coco anymore than she'd already scared herself and hope that good sense would prevail.
                                             
Fortunately, after a few minutes wandering the length of the wall she chose to fly back into our garden. They're not known for their intelligence so it was a 50/50 chance of her choosing to come back and not throw herself at the mercy of Macy, the excited terrier a few feet below. Only Buck Bucky kept her head and walked back the way she had come, head held high, back down the garden path as if to show the younger ones the right way to do it. That was enough excitement for all of us and it was with a sigh of relief that they all clucked and hopped back into their run. I wasted no time in shutting the door behind them. I think we'd all had enough for one day.  
                                             
                                             
Then there were three... the passing of Little Miss Dynamo - July 2007
                                             
 

Well, sad news to impart. Our little bundle of dynamite Pom Pom , the feisty chicken who weighed a mere 1kg (a bag of sugar) and popped shiny, tiny eggs out at an alarming rate has succumbed to the kidney problem which (unbeknown to her and us) she was born with. You may remember Pom Pom as the silver pencilled dainty ballerina – she was our Audrey Hepburn next to Shakira who is much more J Lo (big bottomed and loud). What she missed in stature (she must have weighed at least half of what the others did) she made up for in personality. She was bumptious, tenacious and fearless. Pom Pom rushed in where others feared to tread. She was first down the ramp in the morning, grabbing the day by the throat and booting it in the balls if need be!

She went broody once but unlike Buck Bucky she refused to crack and was complaining as loudly on the day she was released from her week long solitary confinement in a chicken wire based box as she had been the day we locked her in there. Not for her a quiet life, if Pom Pom was disgruntled she let you know! Whereas Buck Bucky is elegant and Shakira is an old bustley washer woman, Pom Pom was a larger than life character. Coco will rush off in a flap if we dare to get near her and it was Pom Pom who would rush up each time we went to the run to see if we would let her out.

                       
 
                                             

She could jump higher, run faster and grumble louder than any of the others – she was quite simply invincible (for a chicken) which is what shocked us so much when we found her huddled up and unable to put her minuscule weight on her leg.

                                             
 

Even then she shuffled around and even did her best to jump into the nesting box to deliver her daily egg.

The next day, after an injection and an anti-inflammatory just in case it wasn't what the vet believed it to be (a fatal tumour) she slipped away, quietly and quite peacefully. Both of us sobbed like mad that our young chicken had gone. It seems that the tumour was pressing on the leg nerves and paralysing them. She deserved a viking funeral but our pond is too small and our fish wouldn't have appreciated it so we buried her instead, near to her friends and home and planted a fairy circle of snowflakes to remember her by in the Spring.

We spent the next night watching the footage we had of our four little hens and how glad I am that we did. It was a comfort to us that we had treated them well, that they had bathed in sunlight, massacred my plants, run riot in the garden, explored the undergrowth and jumped for fresh veg that we dangled for their enjoyment. We have loved them equally (in unequal measure from day to day!) and yet feel they have given us much more than fresh eggs. We've laughed and watched them for hours; had them on our laps and in our hearts and that is where little Pom Pom, that biggest of chickens in the teeniest of bodies, will stay. Rock on, Pom Pom! We salute you!