Those really are the 6 chickens gathered round the water butt on day 1

You can’t claim to live on a farm unless you have livestock. Ok, that’s not true, you can if you grow crops: rapeseed oil or barley or something involving tractors. But in general, you feel a bit of a fraud if you tell people you live on a farm and all it means is a house with a big garden and some untidy land behind it. 

But let that be said of us no longer, for we have our first arrivals. 6 not-so-little chickens arrived last week. 2 white ones -Silverlinks is the technical term I believe  – the girls have christened Darcy and Snowy White Horses (an unfortunate name for a chicken, she must get terrible ribbing from the others); 2 classic brown ones – Goldlines – called Mrs Pepperpot and Rosie (these were the wife mainly); and a black one – Rhode Rock  – called Shady (Joel) and a speckly one – a Cou Cou Maran – called Doris (me). 

We did the whole electric fence thing in the morning, strimming the grass right down round the fence line (which was quite hard in the paddock where it is pretty wild) and connecting everything up with extension wiring to the stables. I’d put the flat-packed chicken house together the previous week, so it was then all ready for the new tenants; but we had to test the fence was working. 

Pam and I stood around getting closer and closer to the fence, but afraid to touch it, stretching our fingers out and pulling back just before contact. Then Pam summoned up the nerve and just touched it briefly. She said she felt a slight tingle rather than a shock but it was probably sufficient for small animals. As we prepared to leave she bent down put one hand on the ground and pulled some grass out with the other, brushing the fence slightly and yelping and virtually convulsing on the floor like she’d ad 60,000 volts through her. 

When we got the birds that afternoon from Annie Hall’s Poultry Farm, Annie explained the fence will shock you if you earth it and generally wearing rubber wellies fails to do that. If you’re touching the ground with bare ands though – bingo! 

We left the chickens in the house that Saturday afternoon to get used to it and then went up to let them out first thing Sunday. I expected to open the door and have them flap their way out like commuters off the 8.00 from Temple Meads. But no, they remained remarkably shy at first, so my first video is of the door standing raised and Maddie peering in trying to coax them out by making squawking noises. 

But they got braver. And when they did emerge and we could examine what they had created in the new house: lo! there were eggs! Beautiful, round, rich eggs, still warm from the innards of the bird which produced them. 

It’s all starting to settle down now – dog, farm cats, chickens, and my ride on tractor/lawnmower. Maybe it’s getting to be a farm after all.