14 January

Perhaps I am feeding them too much or perhaps they are just beginning to feel as if the garden belongs to them, but it is getting a little less easy to get the hens to come back into the coop.   They followed Wilma into the feijoa tree grove this morning where they had an excellent time digging around in the mulch, making dust baths and finding all sorts of curiosities.  I always used to let my hens roam free, Rizza, Rhoda and Piccadilly even sleeping out at night in the trees, but I am more anxious these days and so I worried about worrying about the hens all day long.   I caught Eddy, the bird-catching next-door cat, up in my arms and delivered him home to Sally who was very sympathetic, though when she asked how big the baby chicks were now I had to admit they were essentially hen-sized, and then after I had got ready for work, made my lunch and even found my keys I had one more try at coaxing the hens into the coop, finally succeeding only to have all four escape out again before I could get the door closed.  It took some crafty herding with the help of Simon to get the three smaller hens all back into the coop at the same time as each other, and we gave up on getting Wilma in with the rest.  Then I spent the day worrying that they would have been happier all together in the feijoa grove.  I came home an hour early, my work unfinished, just so I could hang out with them in the garden in the afternoon.  Wilma hurried into the coop to join the others, then as soon as they'd all had something to eat they headed straight back to the feijoa grove where they all, pointlessly, sat down, exactly as they could have done on the ground of their own coop.