Chickens - free range life and fall

February has rushed in after the slowest month of the year. Suddenly we are over a week in and I am not sure what happened.

There are stiff green spears jutting out of the grass. Different shades of green, different markings and thickness. The daffodils, crocuses and even tulips are sticking their fingers out of the darkness.

Over the festive period we lost one of our hens to a passing dog. Sad day indeed as I always feel that my free range girls are a fair game for a hungry fox but not for a dog that is simply chasing for the chase.

I said that much to the postman who arrived saying 'Merry Chr...', only to abruptly stop at the sight of me crying, with a dead chicken in my hand.

And then there were two. One brown hen and the cockerel. They poodled around, quietly chatting to one another.

Taken the day before the strange dog's visit to our garden. The cockerel and the girl on the right saved themselves.

We were down to one egg a day. Even through the shock of seeing the murder, the little brown hen kept laying eggs, like the trooper that she is.

And guess what, it is very hard to get new hens at this time of the year. Especially with bird flu constantly looming overhead.

So for the first time in years I had to buy eggs. I felt bereft and as if cheating on my hen. But she simply couldn't lay enough for my us and also the guests in the holiday let. So I send out my intention and told everyone who'd listen, that I needed a couple of hens.

A fortnight later they arrived. My friend Jo brought me two hens with these words: 'The white lays white eggs and the brown lays blue eggs and her name is Steve.'

The white enjoying the greenhouse spa

Well Steve is a bit of a rarity. She is exceptionally shy, she doesn't have tail and tail feathers (by design, not by accident) and she has a thick beard around her beak. She is also scared of her own shadow so is constantly dashing away from something. She likes to spend time with small garden birds that she can chase off if needed.

Steve also called (by me) Kiwi, due to her likeness to the bird

'The white' in the meantime has taken upon herself the role of a second wife to the handsome chap. That reminds me, the grandchildren wanted to call him Chicoletta and I thought it was too feminine for the gorgeous boy but now that we have a hen called Steve, perhaps it makes more sense.

So here we have it. The family unit contains Chicoletta, the little brown hen, Steve, and the white.

Steve is yet to grace us with a blue egg but as she is too timid to push into the coop to lay it, I am less than hopeful. She is more likely to hide them somewhere around the garden for our dogs to find.