Well the excuse is a cracker thunder storm which took our our electricity for a few hours, but in reality, if inspiration doesn’t hit then the writing just doesn’t happen.
I think that having to relocate BC this week has affected me more than I’d like to let on. So for those of you that don’t know, BC is short for Brown Chicken. BC kind of adopted us because we’re kind, and we weren’t really aware of the massive problem that feral chickens pose here in Bermuda. BC started her life here running down the driveway in front of the car in shear panic not deviating from the path we were trying to take. Many times we narrowly missed her sorry little butt as she shrieked her way directly in front of us, then going off like a ballistic missile at the last possible moment. BC couldn’t come anywhere near me or my lovely husband, she was far too feral and distraught.
As time went on, I coaxed her out of her fear by offering peanuts. Always in half so she couldn’t hurt herself, and only ever six. Coming near to eat them was overruled by taking them from my hand, then climbing up my body to get them, and the last straw, popping in the kitchen demanding them! By now Chicken Kiev the most handsome rooster had turned up, and was also partial to hand fed peanuts, and to BC as well as it turns out.
Now a few months ago BC arrived after being missing in action for a while with her brood of fifteen chicks. Yes, fifteen. What a good layer. We got the idea with lockdown, and money getting tighter around the place, that a chook house might be on the agenda. Our idea turned into a community one, but other projects had to be finished first, and the chicks grew and grew and got greedier and greedier. When the chicks started ripping up the newly planted gardens belonging to our neighbours, it was established that they needed to be relocated. The chook house was a long way off, so fair enough.
We painstakingly trapped all fifteen chicks once they were old enough to fend for themselves. All but one were relocated to a palatial area of Bermuda where we hope the chicken culler who periodically clears Bermuda of these feral pests, won’t get them. One we called Houdini, escaped relocation twice, the first time squeezing through the narrowest gap you’ve ever seen, and the second time by simply just not being there when we next looked in the box! We thought after two goes he was entitled to live where he chose. He was on the doorstep when we got home! Think again.
So things settled down for a while, until BC brought her second brood in just a few months to meet us. Another dozen chicks. She is such a good mum, so much so, that when I tried to deter her with scary purple broom, she was up and in attack mode. That poor broom will never be the same again! Plan B had to be devised.
We enlisted the help of a simple cardboard box, and set it up with a small entrance that was easy to enter, but more difficult to exit. Delicious irresistible seed and peanuts were left for the unsuspecting chickens. Well we caught a couple we didn’t even know were hanging around straight up. Then BC and the twelve chicks after days of cajoling and temptation, all got in the box at once, so it was quickly shut and taped! It was a sad moment releasing her in true matronly regal chicken fashion, but I videoed that for you all to watch. Next was Houdini, totally tame by now, scoffing his little heart out, and quiet as a mouse, until he realised it was his third time unlucky. My lovely husband was on a conference call, so I took Houdini away and released him all on my own, proving finally, that I am indeed smarter than a chicken. He literally exploded out of the box.
There are a couple of dark brown chickens hanging around which we have never ever encouraged or fed, that we don’t consider to be our problem. Kiev is nowhere to be seen, so I guess if the hens aren’t around, he will find them elsewhere. Such fickle fidelity. If any more turn up they will be ignored, and if there are chicks, well – how can I be responsible for the prolific breeding abilities of feral chickens?
My lovely husband is missing them terribly, so we went for a drive ysesterday to see how they were all getting on. Now you have to understand, since the firm message of ‘the chickens have to go’ from the neighbours, we have trapped and relocated thirty chickens from our yard. We parked the car at their new location and much to our embarrassment, chickens raced out from all directions happily greeting us hoping for seed. I guess there’s no hard feelings then. Getting away again without them following was quite the comedy act!
More soon – Sally