Unlucky 13

Wednesday saw me driving down to Silverwood-land to collect Liz, have a bite of lunch with Steak Lady and get a first look at the new grave stone on Mr SL's grave. That would have been a perfectly good story for a blog post. I didn't need all the death, destruction and drama shoulder-barging it off the front pages. It would have been fine. A nice peaceful happy post. That would have done. Come home, few days to recover and prep the house for our weekend visitors. Everyone's a winner. However, the best laid plans (as they might have said) of mice and men shall come to naught when Brer Fox intervenes. Let me explain.

Flights of Angels Sing Thee to Thy Rest

Wednesday, as I said, I was off down to Silverwood-land for the 2 hour drive to meet Liz, see this grave, spend a bit of time with the Silverwood gang and a bite of lunch. It was not the best drive ever - I was driving straight at the bright, low sun, on a very frosty morning and the windscreen washers had frozen up, so I had that fine, salty spray off the vehicles in front and was playing that silly game of trying to wipe the windows whenever that car or lorry went through a puddle and gave you a good wet dose of spray. At some points I even had to stop, pull over and get out and wipe it with a rag.

So, I arrived and we drove round to admire the very fine and tasteful head stone (Rest in Peace Theo) and adjourned to a local café for a bite of breakfast. From there round to Silverwoods for a chat with Mr and Mrs S. It was a lovely relaxing day and we headed home in good time to be there for poultry lock-up and to let the dogs out for a 'comfort stop'. So far so good. As we drove up our lane towards our gate, we could see "white stuff" in the verge of our splay and quickly worked out that this 'stuff' was Buff Orpington feathers. Maybe one had got out and been hit by a car?

First inkling of the problem. Feathers in the verge of our splay

No such luck - as we opened the gate and drove up the drive, those feathers were quickly 'joined' by larger puffs  in the drive, on the front lawn, in the 'woods' to the left and then, with increasing horror, the grass around the pond and even strewn across the frozen ice of the pond. We had obviously had a disaster and immediately suspected a major fox strike. In the gathering gloom we could also not see any chickens so our hearts sank; we thought we'd been wiped out, all the birds killed and taken. The sort of thing you read about but you hope never happens to you. The absolute lowest down side of having your poultry free-range.

Feathers on the frozen pond

From that low point it did start to improve. We spotted the geese all intact and could see 2 ducks with them. We started to spot chickens cowering in corners, scattered into surrounding fields, perching high in hedges. Two sad, still lumps of feather proved to be injured roosters who allowed us to pick them up and carry them to safety indoors. Other chickens hearing our voices and us whistling them up decided it was safe to start clucking and to come out of hiding. We shepherded these home more or less willingly. We spotted the old Sussex (Enda) the wrong side of a sheep-fence and helped her over in near darkness. One Guinea fowl started shouting from 30' up a spruce tree in the pig-run and we found his 'wife' (Min) in the rafters.

Brer Fox went this-away? The field
opposite.

As the darkness closed in we had everybody we could safely locked away but could see no sign of the three turkeys, 4 of the ducks, various chickens, one of the Guineas. It was all a bit confusing (as well as upsetting) but we could do no more. We had to leave them be and hope that more birds might be roosting out and might join us in the morning. We also now had a day-time fox who might easily come back for more and who I needed to either have words with or at least show him/her/them that we are now home, alert and ready.

Safe in the Tígín?

By the next day, it was all a bit clearer. Only one Guinea fowl came home - he'd roosted in a tall ash half a field away and quickly replied with his alarm calls when his buddy woke up in the spruce and started calling. Nobody else came home. In our searches in the evening we had found 2 unclaimed corpses, a duck and the old white Hubbard (Miss White). The fox(es) had managed to kill 13 birds and taken 11 of them away including all 3 turkeys, 3 of the Buff Orp poults (the chicks from Dustbin Lady and Crate Lady), 4 ducks, one young Marans cockerel and both the old Hubbards (Miss White and Miss Red). We assume that, though it is possible that the ducks flew away and the turkeys are scattered across the landscape.

Sunrise over the village crossroads

We have also since found the path used by the foxes carrying off the dead ones - they went off across the lane and through that field opposite which we tried to buy and on then through a hedge and diagonally across the 2nd field. After that we lost the scent and could find no more feathers. We are being fairly philosophical about all this and because the fox has not returned (except possibly to collect the last 2 corpses which we threw into a bramble patch) we are not sure what we can do about him/her/them.

Frosty grass is almost Christmas Card-ish.

We are relieved and delighted that we did not lose more birds. We lost no adult Buff Orps and we kept our two old favourite survivors, the old Sussex (Enda) and the even older Cuckoo Marans (Squawk). Our #2 Buff rooster (The Corporal)  is badly injured but is hanging in there and our #1 (Lt. Colonel Sir Bufton Tufton) is so unfazed and immaculate we suspect that he was either in the beer tent when it all kicked off or, possibly, at his London Club. They do say that it is always the roosters that "get it" because they leap to the defence of their women. Buffers does not seem to have read that bit of the rules of engagement.

The kattens are off for their ops.

More on all this fun and games in a future post.

I am the Captain of this Ship

The Captain - our 'back up' Buff Orp rooster.

Of the 'Baker's Dozen' of Buff Orpington chicks hatched in the incubator (  http://deefer-dawg.blogspot.ie/2014/08/the-bakers-dozen.html ) we are now left with just four. One died of natural causes as a tiny chick, we culled out 2 roosters, sold 2 more and the marauding fox took mainly female birds, so we are left with three very fine hens and a lovely cockerel. The hens are in lay now, though not fully grown, and the rooster looks very healthy and well feathered. If you see him on his own, you'd know he was a handsome chap; it is only when you see him with the full grown roo', (Lieutenant Colonel Sir Buffton Tuffton, sah!) that you realise that he has a way to go yet.

The Captain (nearest to camera) is always on the
periphery of the flock. Sir Buffton (yellow circle)
holds the centre ground. 

He is still quite slim and rangey looking and about half the width of Sir Buffton across the chest. He lacks the boss's huge wide fluffy pantaloons and his confident strut. At present he is allowed to hang around at the periphery of the flock as they move around the 'farm', but makes sure he can always sprint off if the boss gets a bit close for comfort. He is always the bridesmaid at the moment. He does get to 'tread' the occasional hen when they have strayed from the group and if they are willing (the Sussex Pontes won't tolerate him!).

The purple sprouting broccoli in the latest snow.

For the moment we are keeping him as our back-up rooster should anything go wrong with Sir Buffton, but he needs to stay content in that 2nd-in-command position and bide his time. If he gets too much 'sap' rising in the spring and challenges his Father/Uncle he will get mullered for sure. We would have to cull him out. The three girls have now assimilated into the main flock with the 'boss', so they spend all day with him but then adjourn to the smaller coop in which they grew up, with their 'brother' at bed time. Because his boss is called "Lieutenant Colonel" we have decided to give him the rank of Captain, so that is his name. He may gain a promotion through the ranks. I will let you know.

A nice view of the back of the house - the snow nicely disguises
the rusty roof sheeting on the Tígín (outbuilding). 

More pretty snow falls overnight Monday/Tuesday earlier this week. This is all well and good from the point of view of picturesque photos and the sun shines to brighten up the day, but I am on serious business on Tuesday, trying to collect Lizzie from Knock airport, back from her long weekend in Bridport. There is a tense morning when we hear that flights are being delayed and (worse) diverted from Knock to Shannon. Knock is a very pleasant 20 minute run away through the bog-lane. Shannon from here is 2 hours and 12 minutes slog down the N17 (in good weather).

A Ryan Air flight gets instructed to jill around above Longford
before being diverted to Shannon Airport

As well as the airport website these days, you can get up to the minute flight information from websites which track all the planes in the air in real time, and you can find 'your' flight and see its height, bearing, speed and so on. Before Liz had even boarded I could see a Ryan Air flight out of Stansted get put into a holding pattern (see picture) above Longford before being sent south on its diversion to Shannon. Things were looking dodgy.

Liz's flight is well over the Irish sea and still heading in the right
direction as I hop into the car to drive over. 

Liz got re-assuring noises from the stewards on her plane, an Aer Lingus flight - they were "quite sniffy" about Ryan Air's performance. "Well, WE got in yesterday", they said. I watched the flight anxiously as it crossed the Irish Sea and was still aimed at Knock when I ran out of time and had to drive to the airport. Luckily, steward pride did not come before a fall this time, and Liz touched down OK on schedule. Indeed, she was early and the incoming flight almost took the roof off our car as I turned in off the N17. Huge relief all round. I had not been looking forward to a drive to Shannon as even then the clouds were closing in and sleet was falling heavily; I wondered would the airport get shut down with Liz's plane on the ground. Not in the end - that afternoon that weather system was all done, the sun came out and we have now all thawed out, snowless as if it had never been.

Goose egg double yolker. 

2 whooper swans flew over tonight while I was exercising the dogs in the orchard before supper. They were heading east, and I wonder whether they might be our last two wintering birds en route home to the north of Norway and Russia. These guys do not announce their departures like the swallows with their noisy massing. You see them moving about (I watched 4 others fly over about a week ago) and then suddenly on a crisp, quiet, windless clear night you realise that you can not hear the bugle calls any more. They have gone. I have seen just 2 down on the lough for the last week or so and now I see two flying over. Coincidence?

One solution to the egg glut - pickled eggs. 

While I'm on birds, we have moved from a shortage of eggs, without the 'proper' flock coming into full lay, to an egg glut. The young Buffs are now pumping them out and the two 'new' geese have come into lay to join the old girls, so we sometimes get 5 goose eggs in 24 hours. Each goose egg is worth about 3 chicken eggs, so Liz loves them for cooking and they make gorgeous scrambled eggs on a toasted bagel, but I was also able to pickle a batch of the young Buff eggs. 18 just about fitted into our biggest Kilner.

Anyone who regularly hard-boils eggs will know that 'fresh' is not necessarily 'best' - it can be tricky to peel the really fresh ones as the white does not separate  from the shell - the outer layers stick to the shell and you are left with a rough looking 'boily'. Having done 18 of them while taking note of dates, I can happily tell you that the cut off point is 4-5 days. Anthing younger was a problem, anything 5 days or more peeled perfectly.

We finally score some Gubbeen cheese, the subject of our Christmas
gift book. 

Well, there is enough, I think, on chickens, birds and eggs. We finally scored some of the Gubbeen cheese , subject of my Christmas present book. More important, possibly, was that we see from the label that there is an outlet for more of this, within easy range of Sparks. We just need to badger him to dropping by the shop next time he comes down this way. Meanwhile, thank you very much to our 'supplier' - you know who you are. We will be tasting it tonight in a cheese-course we have included in our supper.

Discharged

Following on from my 'Sickness and Health' post a couple of days back, here is the 'Doctor's Rounds' update as of today. It is all great news with both the main patients 'fixed' and discharged from the sick bay. The rooster, Lieutenant Colonel Sir Bufton-Tufton* never really did look sick with anything specific (no discharges from eyes or nostrils or beak, good colour in facial features, no coughing or rasping, OK poo, good feathering, no signs of trauma or damage) - he was just moopy, limp, sleeping a lot and not eating anything we offered, or at least not while we watched. We think now that he probably just had a chill-type infection. We took the advice of all our known experts and isolated him indoors in the warm and dry and 'fed' him (by dribbling liquids into the side of his beak) sugar water and cod liver oil and using Charlotte-of-the-mini-horses, dosed him daily with by-mouth broad spectrum antibiotics. He dozed mainly and a couple of times a day woke up and screamed his Cock a Doodle Doo messages answering shout for shout with our other 'roo' William, outside.

Now, far be it from me to slur the character of a high ranking Army Officer, but by day 5 we were starting to think that he might be malingering and Charlotte suggested turning his heat down a bit so that he got less comfy and either woke up to do something about it, or just went into a sick decline of sulking. So today, with the sun coming out I decided that it was exactly this 'kick in the arse' that might spark him up and I am delighted to say we were right. Straight back in with the gang (having been accepted and quickly reminded who was boss by William) he was suddenly alive and well, scratching and pecking the ground with gusto, mixing it with all the other birds and even trying a bit of tentative 'treading' of some of the hens.

Lieutenant Colonel Sir Bufton-Tufton, centre with his gels

We stayed with him, supervising for an hour but he was doing so well doing 'normal chicken' in the sunshine that we left him to it and just made sure he got to bed alright in the roost this evening (which he did). So he's fixed. We just need to keep an eye.

Goldie the rabbit has also been successfully cured, by 5 days of daily gloopy ear drops which clean up the mites and soften the hard wads of 'citrus peel' scar tissue and being cleaned out by wetted cotton wool pads wrapped round a finger tip and rooted about down the ear canals. She is back to clean, pale-pink ears which she carries much more upright and comfortable and just needs a check up in a week's time to make sure she has stayed clean.

Our sincere thanks to our medical advisors Anne, Steve and Ray but also to Charlotte who has got properly involved in these two cases as part of her 2 weeks of work experience with Aoife-rhymes-with-Deefer. She has been like a whirlwind of activity and we have especially felt the benefit. She has probably seen more drama in 2 weeks than you'd maybe want an 18 year old to see but I guess if you want to do 'vet' then some of the horrors come with the territory and Roscommon's farmers and animal keepers would be as good and bad as the next county's.

Our first primrose of 2014

She has seen heifers put to massive meaty bulls who then gestate calves which are way too big to fit through the birth canal and have to be cut out C-section or die and have to be cut up to get them out. She has seen bodged attempts by farmers to pull out big calves which have resulted in broken legs and even one calf with a broken back. She has pulled smelly rotten lambs out of ewes in putrefying chunks.

...and a first Winter Iris.

She has, though, also seen some lovely things - the live, healthy lamb they found hidden 'behind' the dead one and got breathing. There was also a genuine, knowledge-able guy who called in because a ewe had been trying to lamb for 2 hours and then stopped. He feared the worst, but Aoife and Charlotte pulled out twin lambs. The bloke was delighted but Aoife dipped in again to make sure and found a third, Triplets! I am a softy myself and I was in tears as she bubbled this story out to us! Charlotte finished her work experience on Friday and came away with a glowing report and Aoife telling her she will make a great vet one day. She can't wait to start and is annoyed (tongue in cheek) that she has to go off and finish her college course before she's allowed to play that game! Aoife has said she can come back on any weekend or Wednesday when there are no lectures at college to keep her hand in. Everyone's a winner.

Geese all matey on the mini-pond.

Our geese seem to have all decided that they like each other and George, the gander is no longer insisting on his one-woman man routine. They all stay together when I throw grain in to the orchard, rather than George driving Goosey away so that he and Goocie can have it all. Goosey surprised us yesterday by arriving back in the goose house after I'd shut her into the orchard. She must be able (even if it was a one-off) to fly over the fence and wanted to go back 'indoors' to lay the egg she's not 'finished' during the night. That's a bit of a worry. If she starts to make a habit of it we have to be clipping some wings again.

Boy-pup Towser with his "incorrect" ears

Meanwhile, if Charlotte has 'seen' some stuff this past fortnight, then I think I may have 'seen it all' now on the daft things people do to show-dogs. You'll remember that my boy-pup Towser has floppy ears instead of the pricked up ears which Westies are 'meant' to have We don't mind - he's not a show dog and he looks cute to us. You may also know that some breeds of dog which are 'meant' to have pricked ears are 'enhanced' by wire or plastic inserts installed surgically if they are not pricked enough for the show folk. Well down the lane lives a lovely Irish Terrier pup, name of Gripper. I've always thought he looked great but his ears stick up like Towser's are 'failing' to do and this is BAD (apparently). The owner, at his last haircut, has had his ear tips glued down to his head in a semi-flop like Towser's natural look where they will remain glued for 10 weeks while the cartilage 'sets' so that he can have the 'proper' Irish Terrier look. Yep... seen it all now.

* Pronounce this 'Lef-tenant, please. Only the Navy and the Americans say 'Loo-tenant'