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New chickens

Ystranc

Ystranc

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Recently I may have posted about getting some new hens. We just got half a dozen Warren hybrid (commercial brown) hens aged about twelve weeks due to the unavailability of point of lay hens (usually around twenty weeks old)
They have finally come into lay and the little sweethearts are not doing things by halves. It is common to get the odd double yolker but at the moment they're all doing it.
image.jpeg
 
Brilliant I had an Amber Star hybrid that would regularly lay a double yolker. I'd have that type of bird anytime. They are friendly, good mothers and lay like there's no tomorrow.
 
My neighbour had a problem cockerel. He was a frail old chap and the Cockerel had drawn blood on more than one occasion. Anyhoo the old boy got the local hardnut to come and do the deed. He was last running down the garden with the Cockerel hanging off his leg screaming like a little girl. 2 days later he came back with a shotgun and blew the thing to pieces. No coq au vin or much of anything.
 
Ystranc said:
Recently I may have posted about getting some new hens. We just got half a dozen Warren hybrid (commercial brown) hens aged about twelve weeks due to the unavailability of point of lay hens (usually around twenty weeks old)
They have finally come into lay and the little sweethearts are not doing things by halves. It is common to get the odd double yolker but at the moment they're all doing it.View attachment 29830
Click to expand...
You can't beat it, I miss my hens and bantams every day/
 
Ystranc said:
That would be correct Mark, a swift tug early in the morning is the best way without a doubt 😇😉....don't ask for pictures on how I do it though as I need both
Click to expand...


No pictures necessary (please 😂) I’m very knowledgable about the procedure 😂
 
  • Haha
Reactions: Bam
A few years back in Yorkshire I was asked by a friend to despatch three cockerels. This was on the basis that I had experience on a farm when I lived in the midlands. I checked with my farmer friend and he advised me not to try neck pulling as they are tough animals. He suggested putting the cockerels in a cardboard carton, loop some baler twine round it's head, pull the head over a wood block and chop it's head off. He claimed this was quicker and less likely to cause concern to the animal. All went well until my pal opened the carton and the headless cockerel ran off spraying me with blood. It was several minutes before I stopped laughing and completed the job on the other three.😊
 
Can't resist telling this true but rather sad tale. Back in Sussex I knew a bloke called Andy McGava, he was from Dundee and married to a local girl. Andy worked for an Agricultural Feeds firm and I used to get good deals on torn/damaged bags of Game Bird Feed from him for our Rough Shoot.
Andy was unfortunately very often under the influence of the local hooch, like many strangers he'd been fooled by the " It's only Cider" trick. It was called Merrydown, was brewed locally and it didn't take any prisoners.

One weekend I called at his end of terrace house in the local Town to collect a couple of bags of Feed. As always I used the side gate to the back garden. Typical Victorian town back garden, long and narrow with flint walls.
Andy was in the garden clutching an empty feed sack, his first words were, " Have you got a gun with you?"
" No," I said and then spotted a rather evil looking big black Cockerel at the far end of the garden. It stood with it's head at a strange angle and I saw that it had only one eye, so it continually swivelled it's head to keep us in view.
" Have you got an axe?" Andy asked..." No, but I've got my Swop Hook out in the van " I said.

While in the hazy embrace of Miss Merrydown he had earlier agreed to dispatch the Cockerel for an elderly neighbour. I went to my van and collected the Swop Hook and knowing what was about to happen gave it a few strokes with the sharpening stone. Back in the garden I gave him the Swop Hook and asked where Julie his wife was, "Out" was the reply and I sensed that yet another barney had taken place probably over his love affair with Miss Merrydown.

Andy approached the bird which strutted away, under the clean laundry drying on the washing line. I retreated to the back door and watched as the race went up and down the garden, under the washing, the Cockerel twisting it's head to keep him in view.... I heard a car door slam, " Andy, I think Julie is home" I called. My voice must have distracted the bird because it stopped running and Andy stuck. A mighty swipe with the hook which removed the bird's head and a long section of neck. Andy over swung and the Swop Hook stuck in the wooden washing line pole.

The headless bird ran under the washing which instantly turned to what looked like a Salvador Dali painting in his 'Red Mood' as the spray of Arterial blood doused the clean linen. Julie came through the side gate as the headless bird slammed into the flint wall in front of her. She promptly keeled over !! sinking to her knees and falling side ways onto the garden border. Andy and I rushed to her aid while the bird kicked and scratched away at the wall nearby. Julie's faint was only momentary, she came round and began uttering very unlady like words at Andy beginning with "You ff flippin' drunken animal " etc:

I took this as a signal to leave and I slipped quietly away via the side gate. Separation followed shortly afterwards and my source of cheap Bird feed dried up when the divorce meant Andy returned to Dundee...
 
saxonaxe said:
Can't resist telling this true but rather sad tale. Back in Sussex I knew a bloke called Andy McGava, he was from Dundee and married to a local girl. Andy worked for an Agricultural Feeds firm and I used to get good deals on torn/damaged bags of Game Bird Feed from him for our Rough Shoot.
Andy was unfortunately very often under the influence of the local hooch, like many strangers he'd been fooled by the " It's only Cider" trick. It was called Merrydown, was brewed locally and it didn't take any prisoners.

One weekend I called at his end of terrace house in the local Town to collect a couple of bags of Feed. As always I used the side gate to the back garden. Typical Victorian town back garden, long and narrow with flint walls.
Andy was in the garden clutching an empty feed sack, his first words were, " Have you got a gun with you?"
" No," I said and then spotted a rather evil looking big black Cockerel at the far end of the garden. It stood with it's head at a strange angle and I saw that it had only one eye, so it continually swivelled it's head to keep us in view.
" Have you got an axe?" Andy asked..." No, but I've got my Swop Hook out in the van " I said.

While in the hazy embrace of Miss Merrydown he had earlier agreed to dispatch the Cockerel for an elderly neighbour. I went to my van and collected the Swop Hook and knowing what was about to happen gave it a few strokes with the sharpening stone. Back in the garden I gave him the Swop Hook and asked where Julie his wife was, "Out" was the reply and I sensed that yet another barney had taken place probably over his love affair with Miss Merrydown.

Andy approached the bird which strutted away, under the clean laundry drying on the washing line. I retreated to the back door and watched as the race went up and down the garden, under the washing, the Cockerel twisting it's head to keep him in view.... I heard a car door slam, " Andy, I think Julie is home" I called. My voice must have distracted the bird because it stopped running and Andy stuck. A mighty swipe with the hook which removed the bird's head and a long section of neck. Andy over swung and the Swop Hook stuck in the wooden washing line pole.

The headless bird ran under the washing which instantly turned to what looked like a Salvador Dali painting in his 'Red Mood' as the spray of Arterial blood doused the clean linen. Julie came through the side gate as the headless bird slammed into the flint wall in front of her. She promptly keeled over !! sinking to her knees and falling side ways onto the garden border. Andy and I rushed to her aid while the bird kicked and scratched away at the wall nearby. Julie's faint was only momentary, she came round and began uttering very unlady like words at Andy beginning with "You ff flippin' drunken animal " etc:

I took this as a signal to leave and I slipped quietly away via the side gate. Separation followed shortly afterwards and my source of cheap Bird feed dried up when the divorce meant Andy returned to Dundee...
Click to expand...
There is a moral to that story, possibly several....the one that I choose to take from it is that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. In doing a favour for a neighbour he cost himself dear.
I remember dear old Miss Merrydown from back before she became posh and she used to arrive in big plastic bottles of tramp juice. Not bad cider, not bad at all.
As for that psychotic cockerel of mine, I missed the boat this morning and he was up before me...I'll do him in tonight instead.
 
A new technique that I've been told about is the broom handle technique. Lay the cockerel down face down and place the broom handle across his neck, stand on the broom handle and lift the cockerel by its feet strait upward to break it's neck. I've yet to try it but the old yank and twist seems to work well enough for me.
 
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