Houdini and the Great Rat Rebellion

Houdini is perfectly well behaved, apart from when I go to funerals and she escapes. She potters about her pen, lays the occasional egg, and generally conducts herself like a respectable member of the household.

Unfortunately, the local rats do not share her sense of decorum.

For a while I had a mystery on my hands. Houdini has a rather large feeder which should, in theory, last her about three weeks. Yet somehow I was refilling it far more often than that. Now, much as I love Houdini, she is still only one chicken. Even allowing for enthusiasm, she simply does not have the capacity to eat an entire feeder’s worth of food at the rate it was disappearing.

Which meant only one thing….

I was not feeding Houdini. I was feeding the rats.

The evidence was fairly clear. Rat holes had appeared around the pen and, on the odd evening, I’d even seen the little freeloaders scuttling about like they owned the place. Apparently my chicken feeder had become the local equivalent of a late-night takeaway.

So last week I decided enough was enough and bought Houdini a rat-proof chicken feeder . It’s a clever contraption that hangs up, stays opens so Houdini can feed, but… and this is clever, it has a black knob that the rats have to stand on to access the food, as soon as they step on the knob a shutter closes access, step off and the shutter re-opens.

This morning I discovered the consequence.

My shed door has been chewed.

Not just a polite nibble either. A proper, determined, rat-sized hole attempt, complete with wood shavings scattered across the patio like some kind of tiny DIY project gone wrong. Fortunately for me, they didn’t get in. The door frame is thicker than they anticipated, and they appear to have abandoned the operation halfway through.

Still, the message was fairly clear.

The rats are pissed.

For years they’ve been enjoying free chicken feed on my tab, and now the buffet has abruptly closed. Naturally this cannot stand. Clearly the only reasonable response is to break into the shed and see if there’s anything edible in there instead. There isn’t, incidentally. The chicken feed is stored in a metal dustbin precisely because I know what rats are like. Though I may move the bird seed just in case they decide to escalate their efforts.

In the meantime, Houdini continues to dine safely from her new feeder, blissfully unaware that she is at the centre of a small rodent uprising.

Honestly, keeping chickens is supposed to be peaceful.

Nobody tells you about the politics.

Houdini remains innocent in all of this, though I suspect she secretly approves of the chaos.