Hare today gone tomorrow?

Standing quietly, amusing myself, watching the hens chasing insects in the dusk, I saw a flicker of movement at the corner of my vision.

The largest hare I have ever seen, I swear the size of a Muntjac, loped in a leisurely manner across my neighbours field, disappearing into my as yet uncut hayfield.

I have not seen many hares this year, the tussling bucks having been absent from their usual haunts this spring. I was wondering if they had been extinguished  in Crowcroft, but no, happily here she is, minding her own business.

To return to the hens, anyone who has witnessed the ungainly run and ineffective take off of an Orpington Buff would never eat any thing other than free range again.

They clearly hunt for fun as they rarely catch anything and food abounds in their dishes.

Camouflage is not their strong point and since their acceleration rate would make Jeremy Clarkson cringe it is only a very slow flying moth that ends up as a tasty mouthful.

One of my beloved 'chicks' is clearly an infant cockeral thug in the making and, sooner, rather than later, will have to be sent to his doom.

He already contemplates squaring up to my legs and it is only his puny size compared to a huge fat Orpington  that prevents him harrying all the hens.

Feeding the Wildlife

Alack aday, Madame Reynard has purloined my broody hen, leaving a trail of feathers up the paddock and two bereaved adolescent chicks to fend for themselves.

They are popped in with their aunts in the big hen run for safe keeping with an electric fence strung round as an  additional safeguard.

As darkness falls, their aunts, with a remarkable lack of feeling, refuse to admit them to the sanctuary of the hen house.  In despair they flap over the fence and dash for the safety of the stable , up their ladder, and into the safety of the little house which they shared with their late lamented mama.

Come the morning I catch them and despite their despairing cheeps put them back in the main run. 

This occurs for three days. Finally I surrender and have their little house transferred to the main run.

Will they realise their house is now close at hand. Come dusk I stand guard, they have a brief quiet conversation, the contents of which I only partially catch.

Is this our home? Shall we risk it? Cautiously they climb the ladder . 

Home, Sweet Home! they chirrup and settle down for the night.

Clearly not as dumb as some!