Apologies for the distinct lack of blogging.

I have been spending all my time searching for George.  He has disappeared from the garden.

I know my summer pursuit of ridding the garden of weeds was not looked upon favourably by my chelonian friend but I didn't think he'd take it to such an extreme.

In all honesty, I am incredibly upset.  I thought he would be with my family into the 22nd Century and that in itself is really quite an odd thing to consider.

We have spent a lot of time searching the surrounding gardens.  I had thought our garden escape proof and it had been for the last three years.  I have doubts that the small gap I did find, behind the drainpipe from the conservatory, was big enough for his not inconsiderable shelled frame but it is the only one there is.

Posters have been stuck in local and not so local shops.  Petshops, vets, rehoming centres, UK Tortoise Missing have all been rang.  Notices have been posted on various tortoise-related parts of the internet. 

All my effort has not totally been in vain.  It had been suggested to me, by more than one person, that it is quite possible that George has dug down into the soil to hibernate.  I am very much hoping this is true and that in March, I'll be happily able to report that he has re-appeared at the back door requesting strawberries.

The chickens are indifferent to the loss of their garden companion, he did use to chase them and made for a few ruffled feathers.  The rabbit on the other hand, was more sympathetic and sat patiently while I told him the news and stroked his ears.

I am hoping the spring will herald the return of our moving stone.

.....

Chickens al fresco!

As the weather was unusually good, Betty & Brick had been making regular visits to the garden since they were 2 weeks old.


Initially, they went out for short periods with constant supervision to avoid mishaps, whether predator or chick idiocy based.  They would spend most of their time under some part of me but eventually plucked (did you see what I did there) up courage to venture a little further away.


They enjoyed themselves very much, scratching at the dirt with absolutely no idea as to what they were looking for.  I would sit there tapping the ground in a 'mother hen-like' fashion, directing them to something that they might find tasty.  This had been something I'd been doing since day one.  I would tap near some food with my finger and they would trust that it was OK to eat.


As they grew used to their outdoor visits, they would run about flapping their wings and generally having a merry old time.  It was at this point that they encountered their future garden mates.  George the tortoise, who they didn't like at all and Pippin the rabbit who, despite his size (he's a French Lop & bigger than your average rabbit), didn't seem to worry them half as much. But a moving stone? I guess that's going to freak you out.

Pippin - he's very particular about where he goes to the toilet.

George - aka the moving stone.

As Betty & Brick got older and braver, I put them into Pippin's run and left them outside for longer periods.  They liked this very much and would split their time between scratching for food and sunbathing, unless I was hovering about armed with a camera.

Enjoying the sun.

Enjoying the sun and Chick Crumb

Brick couldn't resist doing something odd for the camera.

A rare two-headed chicken.

 At this point, the chicks were about five weeks old. By six weeks I let them free range for the first time.

They enjoyed themselves immensely, foraging through the flower beds and generally acting more like little chickens than chicks.  Guess I'd better hurry up and make a decision on that coop!