I don’t know how its been in your corner of the world recently, but here is South Yorkshire we’ve had a fairly miserable few weeks weather wise, very cold and dull.

I noticed that the older girls particularly were laying thinner shelled eggs, (and no shells at all a couple of times). I know they need calcium for shell production, so always make sure they have oyster shell to eat and I bake and grind up eggshell to add to their mash, so I knew that access to calcium was covered.

I investigated further (what did we do before the internet?) and it turns out that hens need vitamin D to be able to absorb the calcium.

The poor weather, combined with being restricted to their run (avian flu lockdown) means that they haven’t been sunbathing like they normally do, and it’s clearly affecting them.

Thank goodness that the weather has turned this week. The sun is out, and the girls are making they most of it (they really do bask in the sun).

We need sunlight as well, not just for the vitamin D, it also improves mood, enables deeper, longer sleep, lowers blood pressure and the affects of seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is significantly improved.

So if you have the opportunity, get out in the sunlight, just 20 minutes during the day can make all the difference. I’ve swapped my priorities round, I can work this evening, this afternoon I’m off for a walk in the sun.

We’re now 10 weeks into the Berry birds retirement. Their feathers are growing back beautifully and their combs have brightened and straightened.
They’ve settled in really well.

But we’re still in avian lockdown, so they haven’t been able to leave the run and free range in the woodland. We haven’t really been able to make the connection we did with the older girls.

Ten weeks in with both the Chicken-Bottoms (now just Henrietta and Princess) and the Birdie-Girls (queenie and sweetpea), they were happily jumping on our knees for cuddles and taking corn and grapes from our hands. (In queenies case often insisting on being hand fed).

The Berry-birds have not had that level of contact, and it’s very telling. They are still slightly nervous of us not quite sure if we are friend or foe (although we clearly mean “food”).

I know that once the avian flu lockdown is over and they can come out with us we’ll make that connection with them.

It’s the same with our own lockdown, which feels like forever, but will end.

We’ll have to remake those connections again, perhaps not with close family and dear friends, but with colleagues and friends that you may not have seen for a year. We’ve all been through our own lockdown journey, some will have been affected more than others.

Please remember, when we do get back, to be kind, be patient with others and please make the effort to connect and reconnect.

Just as hens are flock birds, we humans need to be with other people. 

Well what a difference a week can make. Just a few days ago the vet was suggesting that little Sweetpea might be too ill to save.

But we tried anyway.

This week she’s gone from laying listlessly in my arms and taking her medicine without complaint to struggling to escape my cuddles and fighting beak and claw to avoid the medication. And I couldn’t be happier.

Last week when we got back from the vets I was really struggling with our decision to keep trying, I was worried that we had prolonged the inevitable and perhaps we were being cruel by keeping alive.

As the first couple of days passed these feelings got worse. She didn’t seem to be making any improvement and every morning I ran to the coop with trepidation, would she have survived the night?

But then one morning she was up and about, not moving much, but certainly an improvement.

Her comb has reddened and she’s certainly more lively and chatty. Today she’s out of the nightingale ward and back with the flock. (Queenie is chief nurse).

We aren’t out of the woods yet, but she’s doing so much better.

Sometimes you just have to give it time, have a little patience and trust that things will work out in the end. In the word’s of the legendary George Michael, you’ve gotta have faith.

So, it’s New Years Eve 2020, and as a final kicker from this year I’m nursing a very sick hen.

Sweetpea wasn’t herself yesterday, puffed up and less chatty than usual, so rather than risk it turning worse we went straight to the vet. What I wasn’t expecting was his diagnosis, probably egg yolk peritonitis, likely fatal, best course of action immediate pts. I asked if there were any other options, and he suggested draining the fluid, antibiotics and antiinflammatories. But was very clear that this was likely palliative care rather than cure. (This is the option we’ve gone for).

He was very gentle about it, but said that with ex commercial hens the best I could hope for really was about a year before they succumbed to illness due to overlaying. He made me pause and question why I was rescuing ex commercial birds, having lost Chickpea and Gloria already this year, it appears that I’m about to lose Sweetpea as well (And she only arrived in April). It really hurts, I love these birds, they are my pets. They go too soon, can I keep doing this?

If I got hens from a breeder at point of lay they could easily last 8-10 years in the best of health, that’s just not a realistic expectation for ex commercial girls. But it’s not why I decided to have hens in the first place.

I know that if Sweetpea could talk she would tell you that for her 2020 has been the best year of her life. She retired in April and came to Rockley, from a permanent home in a cage in a barn she spent the summer and autumn outside in the sun, dust bathing with her flock and digging for worms, following us around constantly chattering away, the happiest of all my hens. She oversaw the building of the new run and was the first to dive into the leaves that we tired to rake up in autumn. She has loved her retirement, although it may be cut short, it’s been sweet.

So I’ll hope for a miracle, and sit with the pain, but also remember that just because sometimes things are hard, that doesn’t mean they aren’t worth doing.

So with the global pandemic in the human world occurring it may have (understandably) passed people by that there is a similar crisis in the avian world. Avian flu has reached UK shores, resulting in a government ordered severe lockdown of all domestic birds. Since the 14th December all the girls have been restricted to their respective runs.

The older girls (Chicken bottoms and Birdy girls) are secured in the new pen, 30m² of space for four of them, with perches, walkways and mirrors to keep them entertained and new enrichment activities swapped in on a daily basis. (apple bobbing, hanging sprouts, lettuce wreathes this week).

The new girls (the Berry birds) only arrived last Saturday, they are in the old run, 8m² between three of them. I can’t yet get them to recognise layer pellets as food, never mind add anything enriching for them, at the moment their diet is layer mash and water.

The older girls are screaming blue murder to be let out of their palace grounds, they are used to having an acre to roam in, peck at and explore, trees to climb and piles of leaves to jump in. We basically enact “chicken run” every time I go to see them, and I am definitely cast as the villain of the piece.

The Berry birds are just happy that they have space to move around in, perches to roost on and a regular supply of food and water, the only noises I hear are the occasional egg song and happy cooing when I fill up the feeders.

We all judge our personal situation by comparing it to our expectations, our “norm”. This Christmas will be a far cry from normality for us as a family, indeed, it’s very different to our plans from just a week ago.

We won’t be seeing close family and friends that we always visit around the holidays, our Christmas lunch table will be missing many dearly loved ones. But actually, doesn’t that make us the lucky ones? We have people to miss, our “norm” is filled with love and friendship. Just because we won’t be in the physical presence of those people, doesn’t mean that the love isn’t there.

Please spare a thought for those whose Christmas won’t be different this year, whose day hasn’t been touched by the covid lockdown, whose expectations aren’t of a day filled with love and laughter. This Christmas, take a bit of time to be grateful that you have something to miss.

On a cold wet December morning during lockdown 2 we got up early, excited for what the day would bring and drove all the way across the Pennines to St Helens.

Thanks to the wonderful people at British Hen Welfare Trust we were able to adopt three ex caged hens. Holly, Ivy and Mistletoe Berry huddled up together in a well ventilated cardboard box on the way home.

These birds have been kept in a cage since they were of an age to produce eggs, at least a year, they haven’t known any kindness from the humans around them and have been kept in a constant temperature with artificial lighting.

Their combs are pale and floppy, their plumage is patchy, but their eyes are bright. When we first put them in the run they just stood together, not moving at all. Absolutely everything, from the sand on the floor, to the space, the feeders, the sounds, the smells, the temperature, it’s all completely new. They have never felt anything like this in their short lives, it must have been a complete assault on their senses and they were utterly overwhelmed.

I was obviously worried about them, but my presence, as much as I want to be there for them, isn’t helpful right now. They need time and space to relax and explore in peace. Getting to know their new environment and each other is not something that can be rushed.

Creeping back for a maternal check an hour later, (with extra treats), the girls had started looking around and pecking at things (in my head it’s the equivalent of toddlers putting everything in their mouths). At dusk, they took themselves into the coop and lined up on the roost bars. (Very proud mama moment).

Mistletoe is least confident right now, with Holly and Ivy appearing to have chummed up fairly quickly, but over the next days and weeks, slowly but surely, I know that all their personalities will start to shine through.

It’s the same with all growth and development, people need to be given time and space to explore, test their own boundaries and really learn who they are. A chance to increase their personal confidence and the bravery to express their own individuality.

Little Gloria Chickenbottom has been struggling recently, we had crop issues and a potential tumour, then a severe moult. But my feisty, cheeky little girl bounced back from all of it.

This weekend she slowed down again, still eating bits, still the occasional peck at one of the newbies if they got too close, but slower nonetheless.

Princess Layer sat with her a lot, they arrived together on the fourth of May 2019, and I like to think that she was comforting her.

This morning it was clear that we needed to visit the vet, I scooped her up into the deluxe laying apartment (otherwise known as the cat carrier) and rushed her off to the vets. Unfortunately we were too late, but the vet was fairly sure that it was due to the tumour and her little body had finally just given up.

I am desperately sad, I loved that little hen, she had a fabulous character and I will miss her dreadfully.

So what has this taught me? What lesson can I take from such an awful time?

That there is an inevitability to death, and all things come to an end, it’s fine to be sad when it’s over, (indeed grief is a healthy and healing emotion) but take heart from the memories you hold and the good times that were shared.

That love cannot halt death, but it is what makes life worth living.

And whilst I am sad now, I could never wish that I hadn’t adopted her. Gloria had 19 happy months in the sun, dust bathing, digging for worms and climbing trees, she literally jumped at all a free ranging retirement had to offer for a little hen. The best way I can continue her legacy is to rescue more ex-commercial hens. I already have my name on the list to adopt two more.

Fly high sweet bird, and know that you were loved.

As winter approaches the girls slow down on the laying, it’s a combination of shorter daylight hours (in a commercial environment they keep artificial daylight on 14 hours a day throughout the year), and them conserving energy to regrow feathers during moult.

So we’ve gone from having 5 eggs per day in summer, to having only 1.

Also, that solitary egg is scrambled and fed back to the hens for added protein. Alongside the scrambled egg and layer pellets (standard chicken feed) they also get sardines and sunflower hearts (again extra protein) plus sweetcorn before bed (because they love it and I read it keeps them warm in winter).

Basically no-one keep backyard birds to save money on eggs. (I’m an accountant, my last reckoning was that each egg is costing us about £1.38).

Please remember that no-one should value your worth based on what they can get from you. You certainly shouldn’t let their opinion be the basis on which you value yourself.

So, on top of everything else she’s dealt with over the last couple of weeks Gloria is now moulting. Chickens moult in Spring and Autumn, it’s a time when they shed their feathers and grow new ones.

It’s a fairly intensive, uncomfortable process for the hens and whilst it’s happening they look really scrappy and fed up.

Moulting also takes a significant amount of energy from the bird, feathers are mostly protein so the diet has to change a little and egg production stops altogether (which is why farmers get rid of hens during moult), it’s also apparent from Glorias attitude that she is definitely not a happy chicken.

But this is when she needs the utmost care, the absolute best diet, with all her favourite extras, plus additional vitamins and minerals to make sure she grows back her feathers quickly before the weather gets really cold.

Its the same for us all, it’s when you feel at your lowest ebb (and probably think the least of yourself) that you need to give yourself the best care possible, healthy food and exercise, plenty of water plus decent sleep to help heal your body and mind.

Happy days! Gloria has been signed off by the vets as fit and healthy. A couple of weeks of worry and 3 trips to the vets, but she certainly seems on the mend.

Those long trips to the vets and administering multiple medicines was no fun for either of us, and I can attest to the fact that nor was it cheap!

Gloria’ s life has been valued a few times now. To the egg producer at 18 months of age she was worthless, a drain on their profits, to the rehoming centre she was worth a few pounds plus a donation so they can continue their great work rescuing and rehoming ex commercial hens.

To me she’s a much loved pet, and worth everything I have.

Never let someone else’s evaluation of your worth affect how you feel about yourself. They are all looking from a different perspective through a blurred lense.