Day 74: Dayus horribilis

6am. CATFIGHT!@!!!

Lept out of bed, down the stairs in three loooong jumps, out the door... Gretel arrived with bite marks on her back - again!
Weeks ago the big white and black moggy that has been coming into our kitchen, stealing food and peeing everywhere bit her on the bum. I spent over a week bathing and tending to her wounds between nappy changes. Now the b@stard returns and does it again.

Who has an un-neutered tomcat these days? Crazy people.

2.30pm. !FOX@!!! Bright sunshine, chickens all free ranging as usual...Tasha screaming FOX!. I lept up (it was a day for leaping apparently) jumped out of the lounge window and over the flower pot to see Mr Fox with one of our brown hens in it's mouth. I shouted like a football hooligan and miraculously it was startled enough to drop her and run off, with me in hot pursuit. I was 99% sure it had nothing in it's mouth and it soon disappeared into the long grass.

Back at the house Tasha had got six hens in their run, with Ellie-Bolt (named by our God-daughter Ellie) standing dazed under a bush not keen on coming out and a mass of brown feathers on the grass. Eventually we got Ellie in, but that left our other brown hen Winston missing.

When we last had chicken drama it was a local dog chasing them. On that occasion they scattered and it took about 45 mins before they all came home. So we called and called. I paced the garden, filled the goose pool up a bit, watered plants, called, checked all the sheds, behind things, under things. I got a big scratch from brambles right in the middle of my forehead and a thorn in my finger, it was a great afternoon. Was she hurt? Hiding? Eaten?

Three hours later and we had resigned ourselves to the loss. I was kicking myself for not getting through the window quicker, and for even letting them roam so soon after yesterday's attack on our neighbours' flock.

Then we had one of those..miracles. Tasha went to the back door and their was little Winston. A bit shaken, with a few bald patches, but alive! A quick antibiotic jab later and she was back with the flock. We will have to chick the eggs for a few days until the antibiotics get through her system but that's a small price eh?

Oscar's Uncle Matt called on Skype but Oscar refused to smile or even look at the screen. I think it was Matt's Arsenal shirt.

So we didn't lose a chicken after all. We did lose Oscar's last milk spot though! The end of an era.