CHICKENS: jolted awake by a noisy newcomer

KEEPING chickens is apparently the latest craze among metropolitan couples who swap their luxury city pads for country homes at the weekend.

So popular have humble hens become as the new 'in' hobby that a stack of books have recently been written on how best to look after them.

Most chickens in this country are descended from the Old English Game Fowl, a bird kept as much for its fighting prowess as its meat.

Cock-fighting dates back over 2,000 years and continued here long after it was outlawed in the middle of the 19th century.

Even the Roman conquerers commented on the obsession of native Britons for their sporting birds, although cock-fighting probably paled in comparison with the bloody combat at the Coliseum.

Few people today look at chickens the same way and the vast majority are kept for their meat, their eggs, or simply as an attractive diversion.

It has to be said there is something deeply relaxing about watching a few hens unhurriedly scratching around a patch of dry earth looking for insects and worms.

I learnt this first-hand when one of my brothers acquired a magnificent white cockerel and five sandy brown hens.

These newcomers were swiftly penned behind some wire in our back garden, with an old rabbit hutch employed as their dormitory.

I can still remember the beaming smile on my brother's face as he proudly introduced his new charges.

We, all still kids, beamed back.

The neighbours beamed over the fence.

Everyone beamed.

But at about 4am the following morning, no-one felt like beaming anymore. A blood-curdling, ear-splitting noise shook the house, and all the other houses in our row.

Everyone woke with a start.

"What was that ?," we gasped.

There it was again.

Even worse this time.

The cock was crowing.

Somehow, in all the fuss and excitement, the possibility of a cockerel doing what cockerels do naturally had been overlooked.

Outside, it was still dark.

Why the cockerel crowed so early no-one could understand.

Perhaps it was an early bird.

After a week of being jolted from our sleep, everyone - especially the neighbours - agreed the cockerel had to go.

My brother attempted to overturn the verdict, desperately trying to shut the bird up using a variety of methods.

None worked.

It was a sad day when we all chased the cockerel round the garden until we finally managed to get it into a large cardboard box.

Then it was taken back to the farm it came from.

Unfortunately, greater sadness was to follow.

A vital function of a cockerel is to protect the hens.

Without the protection of a cock's hawk-like beak and sharp claws, hens are vulnerable.

Sure enough, within a few weeks, a terrier got into the pen and killed every one of the hens.

I doubt it would have happened with the cock still there.

All casualties were dutifully buried - a terrible waste of protein in retrospect.